


Uncle Bobby

by GatherYourStrength



Series: Bob's Your Uncle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Singer is a Hufflepuff, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, My First Fanfic, Parental Bobby Singer, Uncle Bobby Singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-10-17 09:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20618525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatherYourStrength/pseuds/GatherYourStrength
Summary: Bobby and Hermione finally meet.  Secrets will be revealed.  Relationships will be built.And a trip to Australia is definitely in order.This work is meant to follow a series of letters between (primarily) Richard Granger and Bobby Singer. It may help to read at least the last few from 1997 and 1998 to get an idea of where this is starting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After months and months of reading Fanfic, I finally decided I should write my own.  
First fanfic. Honestly, first creative writing in a looooong time.  
It's clumsy.  
Constructive criticism is appreciated.

**CHAPTER 1**

~~BS~~

Bobby yelled, "Hello," into the phone for the third time, but no reply came. Hopefully just a wrong number and not John or the boys in trouble. He slammed the receiver down and stalked to the front door. Walking down his driveway, he thought about how waiting for news always made him into even more of a bastard. He reached the road and wiped his brow under the brim of his hat. He opened the mailbox and grimaced. Trying to ignore the tremor in his hand, he reached for the letter. Nothing special about it. Nothing he hadn't logically expected. 

RETURN TO SENDER   
PERSON(S) UNKNOWN  
NO FORWARDING ADDRESS

"Balls," he said under his breath. He had sent his last letter to Hermione to her PO Box and her address in Hampstead. The one to Hampstead was returned. Only eight weeks later. God damn international mail. Maybe he should get one of those email addresses Ellen kept going on about. 

Bobby turned from the steel box at the edge of his property and started back under the Singer Auto Salvage sign. He'd made it about halfway down the dirt drive when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He paused for a fraction of a second but didn't stop, not wanting whatever it was that was watching him to figure out he was aware of its presence. Cheney started a low growl but didn't get up from his bone. He either couldn't see the danger or didn't find it threatening. 

Bobby continued past the dog, up onto the porch and into the house, leaving the front door open. Moving quickly, he snatched his shot gun with his right hand and grabbed some salt rounds with his left. He turned to face the doorway and caught a small hand coming up to knock on the frame. Bobby froze, shells midway into the barrel. His eyes ran from her hand resting on the door frame, to the tense set of her shoulders. They lingered on her wild hair and slowly they moved to her face. Brown eyes blown wide, a splatter of freckles, a mouth distorted by a wince. As thought caught up to him, he could only think that Hermione's mouth was wrong. It should be smiling. That's how her mouth was in the four pictures that he kept locked in his desk. She should be happy; not staring at him with distrust. Why ain't she happy to see…

Bobby finally realized he was still loading the shotgun. He cleared his throat to make up for the lapse in brain power that was making speech impossible and lowered his weapon. Hermione's eyes relaxed and her mouth fell into a neutral line, but her body remained tense. He made no motion to invite her in. They stared at one another until the silence felt impossible to break. Then in a surprisingly embarrassed voice, Hermione finally spoke. 

"Hi Uncle Bobby."

~~HG~~

"You didn't drive here," were the first words out of Bobby's mouth. Not a question, but a statement. Not a greeting. And most definitely not an invitation to come inside. Hermione realized that a man surrounded by cars and living in the middle of nowhere would probably distrust anyone who showed up without an automobile. She looked up into his face and saw hesitance and confusion. But something in his gaze suggested he was relieved to see her. 

"No. I didn't," Hermione slowly replied, her eyes traveling back to the large gun in his hands. "Actually I've never learned how. Never had the need. My Dad offered to-"

Hermione stopped short and her hand twitched for the wand hidden up her sleeve as Bobby lifted the gun from his side, only to lay it on a small table to his right. 

"You didn't think to warn me that you'd invited yourself over?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow. Without the gun, Bobby seemed to be at a loss on what to do with his hands. He tucked them into the pockets of his worn denims, only to take them out to fiddle with his fingers. 

Hermione took a deep breath and crossed her arms. She knew coming to South Dakota without warning him had been impetuous. Particularly for her. But after the final battle and the briefings with Kingsley and the boys, she had returned to London and retrieved the letters he had continued to send throughout her year on the run. She moved in with the Weasleys and grieved with them over the loss of Fred and countless others. She helped with the Hogwarts cleanup and sat as a witness for the Malfoys' trials. 

But Bobby was always in the back of her mind. So Bobby was a Hunter. Hermione had to research what exactly that meant; she quite enjoyed having a research project not intricately linked to her own survival. Bobby was also family. Technically the only family she had (who still remembered her). Family who had experience with the preternatural. Family she needed. Once she felt the Weasleys were stable enough without her, she met with Harry and Ron and told them she had an uncle in America and her plans to find her parents. Harry had offered to come along, but Hermione wanted to appeal to her uncle's sense of family, and couldn't do so with a friend in tow. Even if Harry was her brother in everything but blood.

After that, the idea of writing him and waiting for a response seemed impossible. What would she write? Somehow, 'I'm alive and need to see you' seemed as farcical as saying 'you've mistaken me for a hunter but I'm really a witch.' Calling a man she had never met seemed equally objectionable for the same reasons. What could she say that wouldn't result in him hunting her down or writing her off entirely?

She cleared her throat, "If you're busy, I can come back another time." Hermione watched as Bobby's eyes widened and his hands moved towards hers as if to pull her over the threshold. He seemed to change his mind last second as his hands stilled and then dropped to his sides. 

"You'd better come in," he said gruffly. Instead of turning to allow Hermione to follow him, Bobby simply backed away from the door. Hermione entered and quietly closed the door behind her. When she turned round, she could see Bobby's piercing blue eyes tracking her into the room, yet he seemed slightly more relaxed. Maybe he still actually thought she would leave.

"You want something to drink? I think I still have some tea that your parents sent me. Though it's several years old now." 

Hermione agreed if only to move them further into the house and away from the door. As they crossed the small foyer, Hermione caught sight of books stacked haphazardly on every surface. They moved into the kitchen and Bobby filled a kettle before setting it on the stove. He turned to Hermione. "So… you're alive."

Hermione nodded and smiled slightly. Merlin, this man had a way with words. She realized they were staring at each other again. 

"What's Sturgis?" Hermione asked, as she made a pointed look at Bobby's cap. Apparently she wasn't much better with words. Come on Hermione; you're as bad as Ron when he first met Fleur. 

Bobby stared at her for another second before launching into a story regarding the town and the history of the motorcycle rally. The kettle boiled and Hermione realized he didn't really know how to make tea, at least not the British way. But Bobby seemed more inclined to talk when his hands were busy, and she was loath to interrupt. Hermione started to think that Sturgis was similar to a quidditch match - if she ever went, she would remember to bring a good book. Bobby concluded his story by saying he liked the town, but didn't like the crowds. He then motioned for Hermione to sit at the kitchen table. 

"I, uh, don't have any milk. But I have some sugar. Maybe even some honey."

"Sugar would be lovely. Thank you." Hermione took pity on him and let her eyes wander around the room. Everything appeared worn. The table. The mismatched chairs. The home seemed cared for, but in a spartan way. She looked back to Bobby who seemed to be taking a long time to find the sugar. 

"Here we go," he said as he sat a mug down in front of her. She realized he hadn't made a cup for himself. Bobby sat opposite her, but seemed to hold his breath as she stared at the mug. Hermione wondered if he was concerned about the taste. She took a sip as she continued to scan the room and her eyes came to rest on a line of phones with attached labels. Her curiosity had her opening her mouth to ask, but she looked at Bobby and found him smiling at her. Not so gruff after all then. 

She smiled slightly and took another sip of the admittedly weak tea. Bobby took a big breath in through his nose and relaxed more into his seat. Hermione opened her mouth and blurted just as Bobby began to speak:

"I'm not a Hunter."  
"So what were you hunting?"


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

~~BS~~

Once Hermione's words registered, Bobby's mind went into overdrive. She said she was hunting. Police couldn't help. She'd sent her own damn parents away for safe keeping. How had Bobby's assumption been so wrong? He'd not only identified himself as a hunter, but possibly even outed John and the boys. Bobby couldn't quite remember what he put in those last desperate letters. What kind of idjit was he? At least she passed the usual tests in his home. All of those thoughts swirled in his brain but the only thing that filtered to his mouth was, "I knew there ain't no school for hunters."

Hermione looked nervous. She blinked at Bobby. "None that I've found in my research either. Hunting appears to be passed down in a master to apprentice style, as much as I can tell." Her voice petered out towards the end of her statement as Bobby stared at her. He realized Hermione had her mug in a vice grip; each of her thin knuckles were white. Such small hands. Her wrists looked incredibly breakable. She was shorter than him, maybe 5 foot 4 or 5, but couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds soaking wet. Bobby noticed the tension in her shoulders was still present. He realized he could clearly see her clavicle, and just above it, a thin red scar. He looked again into her face and noticed her cheek bones were too prominent; what should be a heart- shaped face was too angular. This was not the Hermione in his photo from last year. Whatever happened to her in the last 9 months, it wasn't a picnic. 

"I need a drink," he grunted as he swung himself out of his chair. Bobby went into the front room and grabbed the flask off his desk. He realized Hermione hadn't followed him. He tried to corral his thoughts as he took a sip of whiskey. If Hermione wasn't a hunter then what was she? What would cause a normal person to avoid authorities? Was this like a mob hit? She looked like she'd been to hell and back. Bobby walked back to the kitchen with his flask and found Hermione studying the wood grain on the table. She looked up when he cleared his throat and her eyes were glazed, cheeks pink, but Bobby didn't see any tears. 

"Are Jean and Richard… Are they alive?" he asked. Hermione's eyes flickered and for a second there was an odd look of accomplishment on her face. 

"I think so. They should be."

"Where are they?"

"Australia." Yep, the look on her face was definitely accomplishment. 

"And they didn't take you?" Bobby asked skeptically.

Hermione's face instantly fell. Bobby wasn't sure why, but he felt bad for ruining the mood. Hermione started with a whisper, "They didn't understand the danger. They couldn't stay in England. They would have been tracked, tortured for information at best or killed slowly, at worst. Once I finally convinced them to leave, Mum begged me to go with them. Dad too, but he at least seemed to understand my need to stay.” Her voice grew stronger as she looked Bobby in the eye, “He actually told me you had suggested Australia. They always wanted to move there. I needed another option when it became clear they couldn’t come here. So I sent them.”

“You… sent… them?” Bobby mulled over the words. Confusion evident in his tone.

Hermione nodded. “I did. But they… they don’t remember that.” She stared at her mug like it held the secrets of the universe. 

“How can they not remember you sending them to another continent?” Bobby asked as he unscrewed the flask again. He didn’t like being this confused. 

“It’s a long story,” She looked up and this time she focused so intently on his face, she seemed to x-ray him. “I'm afraid it's one for which you are long overdue. But I need to be sure you trust me, and that you can keep a secret.”  


~~HG~~

He took a long drink from his flask and flashed her an irritated look. Bobby stood up abruptly and grumbled, “Come with me.” Hermione stood, leaving the mug on the table and followed Bobby into his front room. Bobby continued, “You apparently know what I do.” He motioned to a stack of books perched on an armchair. “So you have some idea of what’s out there.” He gestured to the desktop where several pistols and an open book lay. Hermione peered closer and could see what appeared to be a list of weather patterns cross checked to a list of suspicious deaths and disappearances. “I know more things than any man should and at my age I’ve seen enough things that go bump in the night to know you can’t ever have enough salt, gasoline, or bullets to protect the ones you love.” He walked around the desk and sat in the cracked leather chair and sighed. “I didn’t want to choose this life. But I’m so far down the rabbit hole, there’s no stoppin’ now.” He pulled a key from his pocket and started unlocking the top right desk drawer. “When I got that first letter from your daddy, I was determined not to reply. The life of a Hunter is not something easily shared.”

Hermione sat in the wooden chair opposite him and leaned forward, trying to look into Bobby’s face. His baseball cap hid his eyes as he pulled out a stack of letters and photographs. Hermione recognized her father’s handwriting.

“Ya know, your daddy sent me a picture of you in that very first letter. Him and your mama too.” Bobby’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he pulled out a photograph of her family in the Forest of Dean. Hermione tried not to visibly shiver as she thought of the snow, an empty stomach, and Harry's broken wand. Bobby, oblivious to her discomfort and lost in nostalgia, continued, “Idjit was so trusting. He knew I probably was a blood relation but I could have been a serial killer for all he knew." He let out a low chuckle but stopped as he finally looked up at Hermione. "I stared at that picture every day for three months before I finally decided that maybe when it comes to family, life ain't supposed to be easy." Bobby pulled the flask from his pocket and Hermione found herself wondering if he kept it this close every day, or if today was an exception. After a long draught, he spoke again, "I chose to trust Richard then, and the fact that you're here now… well I'm willing to trust that it's for a damn good reason. As for secrets, I've enough of them to start using 'em as currency." He finished with another hit of the flask before setting Hermione with an even stare.

She gave him a nervous smile. "Thanks, Bobby," she said in a small voice. Hermione was more moved by Bobby's words than she outwardly portrayed. For many years her only extended family had been comprised of Harry and the Weasleys. To have someone who was a link to her parents, especially now, was not something she wanted to cast aside. But she knew Bobby was suspicious of her. 

Hermione held her breath, her mind weighing her next words. Bobby's eyes narrowed as he seemingly lost patience with her silence. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" he prodded.

Hermione huffed. "May I?" She stretched out her palm towards the flask in Bobby's hand. 

"What? Tea not good enough for ya, princess?" Bobby's lip twitched with his sarcasm. He stood and pocketed the flask while walking back to the kitchen. Hermione chewed her lip as she heard a cupboard door open and shut and something being poured down the sink. Bobby returned with a bottle of whiskey and her empty tea mug. "Figured you didn't want to suffer through any more of my holy water tea." 

"Holy water? Should I feel blessed?" Hermione quipped as Bobby handed her the mug and started pouring. 

Bobby smirked and gave her a look that indicated he was humoring her. Hermione had the suspicion that he offered spiked beverages to everyone who came through his door and she felt proud that she had passed his test, albeit completely unwittingly. 

Bobby resumed his seat on the other side of his desk while Hermione took a sip from her mug. The taste was harsh, but provided just enough liquid courage for her to ask her first question. She observed Bobby carefully as she rested the mug on the desk and fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. She wouldn't openly reach for her wand unless absolutely necessary, but she yearned for the protective comfort. 

"What do you know about witches, Bobby?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to stick with one perspective per chapter from here on out.

**CHAPTER 3**

~~BS~~

Bobby's heart sped up and might as well have lodged itself in his throat, for the lack of air he seemed to be suffering. Witches. Witches?!? How in the hell did witches play into this mess? What kind of shitstorm was she at the center of? Bobby hadn't heard anything about the major covens in several years, but maybe he had missed signs over in the UK. Was she a witch? If so, why come here? Why now? God, what if she had used her own parents in some satanic ritual and now she needed more family? Why didn't he keep the iron bullets in this desk? Bobby gaped at Hermione as if waiting for words to appear on her forehead proclaiming she had made a deal with the devil. Instead, he realized she was biting her lip and picking her sleeve. Hmm… nervous. Or possibly scared. Maybe she just got on the wrong side of a witch who was hellbent on revenge? 

Bobby's brain finally reminded him he needed oxygen and he took a deep inhale before exhaling his words, "I know enough. Obtaining magic through deals with demons. Satanic rituals. Coven ceremonies. Evil mojo. Hoodoo. Voodoo." He shrugged in an attempt to look nonchalant. "I have a few books for reference." He motioned around the room. 

Hermione's gave him a wistful expression that was strangely tinged with disappointment. She shook her head, her riotous curls bouncing from side to side. "Perhaps I should clarify. What do you know about _ natural _ witches?"

Bobby tried to remember if he'd ever even heard the term. He thought back to his last witch hunt with Rufus in… '91? '92? He couldn't remember the exact details, but there was nothing 'natural' about that witch, her grimoire,or any of her students. He made a mental note to check his journal as he glanced towards his bookshelf on the opposite wall. 

"I… can't say I've heard the term. Ain't nothing natural about witchcraft." Bobby squirmed. He hated not knowing something. That's why he loved research. He focused back on Hermione and thought she looked even more disappointed than before. 

Hermione straightened her back and pulled her chin up. "It would seem your knowledge of magic is woefully short-sighted. There are witches, and wizards," she paused slightly for effect and Bobby got the impression he should be taking notes, "who have no ties to demons or other dark creatures. In fact, there are people around the globe who were born with magic through what is largely believed to be a genetic anomaly. They use their magic mainly through the help of a medium- most commonly a wand- on a daily basis without any harm to others. Of course, it is also true that not all natural witches and wizards are harmless and there are some who turn to evil and dark magic." Hermione's gaze drifted from Bobby's face and she seemed to subconsciously rub her left forearm, but she continued the lesson, "All natural witches and wizards operate under an international law referred to as the Statue of Secrecy. This Statute is meant to protect both muggles, or persons without magic, and those with knowledge of the wizarding world. For this reason, it is unsurprising that you were not aware of their presence. Sharing this information, as well as the story I'm about to divulge would be considered an infraction of that Statute." She stopped and peered at Bobby, seemingly waiting for an interjection. 

He raised an eyebrow, "Can't say I operate much inside the law as it is."

Hermione nodded. "Just… don't shoot me, yeah?" she said hesitantly.

Bobby's hands almost itched towards the pistols on principle, but he diverted them back to his pocket where he grabbed his flask. At this rate he'd be drunk before lunch. Wouldn't be the first time, and at this rate, certainly not the last. He motioned for Hermione to proceed. 

Hermione's shoulders relaxed minutely, but Bobby could see her eyes lighten, as if coming out from behind a cloud. She slowly pulled a stick - no, a magic wand- out of her sleeve and looking directly at him with an air of pride stated, "I am a natural born witch." Bobby's lack of expression must have encouraged her, as her cadence increased. "I found out at the age of 11, when I was accepted into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts is the only school of magic in the UK and only accepts children past age 11 due to the strength of their magical core. My parents are not magical, but still allowed me to attend. I…" Hermione began to slow down and her voice grew soft, "I had a good childhood, a happy home. But like most overly precocious children, I didn't get on well with my peers. Not to mention, odd things would happen around me. My books would reappear in my bed if my parents took them away at bedtime. A girl who made fun of my teeth had her hair turned purple. Small bouts of what I later learned was accidental magic." She smiled and looked not at Bobby, but through him. "When I found out what I really was and that there were countless other children like me, it was as if a piece of my soul finally slotted into place. I felt I had complete understanding of myself in that moment. And several weeks later, when my wand chose me… well, I think it was the happiest I had ever been in my short life."

Bobby tried to mask his confusion over sticks choosing anything or anyone by looking down at the desk. He saw the picture of the Grangers in the Forest of Dean and imagined a younger Hermione, being let into one of the biggest secrets of their world and realizing she was not alone. His thoughts ran to Dean and Sam, who also carried more secrets than any child should. If they had met other children who also understood Hunting- its intricacies and lifestyle- what sort of difference would it have made?

Bobby looked from the picture back to Hermione who had paused to take a sip from her mug. When she sat back in the chair, she held her wand, gently tapping it against her left forearm as she continued. "Unfortunately, the wizarding world is very traditional, particularly so in the UK. And when I finally made it to school, I realized it was not the utopia I had imagined. Families who could trace their magic back centuries, almost straight to Merlin himself," here Bobby coughed and tried to cover it up by taking another drink, “consider themselves to be the rightful users of magic. These select families refer to themselves as ‘Purebloods.’ As the child of non-magical parents, they viewed me, a Muggleborn, as inferior.” Bobby saw sadness in Hermione’s eyes, but also determination. “I quickly learned that bigotry and prejudice are alive in the hearts of children as well as adults.”

Bobby finally found his voice, “Richard mentioned there were bullies. Described it as the 'old money versus new money.'”

Hermione scoffed, “A very generalized description, but apt. And ridiculous all the same. Money is money, and magic is magic. A family may have magic in their lineage for centuries, but it does not make the witches or wizards more powerful. In an attempt to maintain ‘Pureblood’ status, some families have completely died out from insanity and inbreeding.” She sighed and sat back, squaring her shoulders again, indicating she was getting back to business. “These prejudiced ideals have divided the wizarding community in the UK and parts of Europe for the better part of the last century. There have been three wars waged in the name of Pureblood ideals that were used as a means to exterminate muggles, muggleborns, and the less conservative purebloods, referred to by some as ‘Blood Traitors.’...” Bobby again felt he should be taking notes as Hermione plowed on. “...The first started in the late 1920s with a dark wizard known as Grindelwald. His trail of destruction bled into muggle politics and vastly increased the death count of World War II.” Bobby could feel his eyebrows disappear under the brim of his hat. Wizarding Wars? And most of the world had no idea… 

Hermione looked like she could go for more whiskey, but then thought better of it and settled in her chair again before continuing, “The First Wizarding War, as it is called in the UK, started in the 1970s before ending abruptly in 1981, when its leader, the dark wizard Voldemort was supposedly killed. It started again during my fourth year at Hogwarts when he was resurrected.” Hermione continued the story of the Second Wizarding War and told how after living on the run for nine months hunting down magical artifacts, her best friend Harry had ultimately ended the war by putting that bastard Moldywart (or whatever his name was) 6 feet under. 

Bobby found himself growing increasingly irate until finally he couldn’t hold back. “Kids!” he shouted as he rose from his chair. “An entire damn world of witches and wizards, and they let kids do the dirty work?!” Bobby paced behind the desk. "I was drafted at the age of 18. Spent four years in ‘Nam. I was forced to fight a war I didn't want nothing to do with. There's no reason you should have been involved in that, kid. What kind of idjit are you, that you didn't get the hell out of dodge when you had the chance?"

Hermione jumped from her chair and her eyes flashed dangerously at Bobby. "Do you not think my parents had the same argument? They didn't understand that I wasn't forced into this war. I became a part of it the second I stepped into the wizarding world. From the moment I showed up at Hogwarts someone wanted me dead or silenced. Not because of anything in my control, but only because of who my parents were." Bobby leaned back towards the wall, starting to wonder if he'd had too much to drink. Was he seeing things or was Hermione's hair actually sparking at the ends? Bobby idly wondered where his fire extinguisher was, as she continued her diatribe, "If I had done nothing, what kind of person would I be? How could I face myself every day, if I didn't stand up to those who wanted to eradicate my family, my friends? This was my fight, Bobby. My childhood may have been stolen from me, but I would fight all over again if it meant that even one less person did not have to suffer." 

Hermione stopped, seemingly startled by the sparks that shot out of her wand, and gasped for breath. Bobby watched her twitch her wrist, and her wand disappeared up her sleeve. She reached for her whiskey and drank deeply. She emptied the mug and mumbled something under her breath that sounded to Bobby like Firewhiskey. Bobby couldn’t figure out if he was impressed or terrified by Hermione’s convictions. He decided on a middle ground of cautious respect. 

Hermione sat again and Bobby also edged into his chair. In an effort to keep her hair from going up like a sparkler on the 4th of July, he grasped for what he hoped was a better topic. “So, uh, what kind of magic can you do?”

Hermione let a small grin spread across her fierce expression. “All kinds. There are branches of magic and spells related to healing, protection, transfiguring one thing into another, cleaning, everything really - even cosmetics. I’ve also studied runes, astronomy, potions, herbology, magical creatures and arithmancy - a form of advanced maths. I’m pants at divination though, definitely not a seer.” At this comment, Hermione’s lips quirked as if retelling an old joke.

She slowly removed her wand again, keeping her eyes trained on Bobby. He knew he was being treated like a dangerous animal, but couldn’t bring himself to care. In fact, he realized he appreciated her handling the situation with hesitance even though it showed she didn’t fully trust him. Smart girl.

“I could show you some charms if you’d like,” she offered.

Bobby slowly nodded, hands itching again for a pistol. He tucked them in his pockets, but felt like a target so he took them out and set them on the desk. Thankfully Hermione turned away from him and towards a stack of books piled on a chair to his right. She made a graceful swish and flick motion with the wand and the books started floating in mid air. She said something Bobby couldn’t hear and the books started to sort themselves before coming to rest again on the floor. She said something else - was that latin? - and the chair turned into a bookcase before she neatly managed to have the books slide themselves onto the shelves. Bobby admitted to himself he was impressed. 

But to Hermione, the only thing he said was, “What? Didn’t like my filing system?”

Hermione smirked and primly stated, “All books deserve proper care and respect, Uncle Bobby.”  
  
He let out a low chuckle. In so many ways, Hermione was just as Richard had described her. Thinking back on Richard made him realize she still hadn’t shared why her parents had left her in danger and ran off to Australia. Bobby cleared his throat, “So what _ did _ happen with your parents?”


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

~~HG~~

Hermione opened her mouth but her stomach growled, apparently wanting to speak for her. She had left the Weasleys that morning and apparated to London for a last minute check on her PO Box. Thanks to pulling a few strings with Kingsley, she had arranged to arrive at the MACUSA international portkey office and then take an immediate portkey to Minneapolis. She then caught a plane from Minneapolis to the Sioux Falls Regional Airport. Once there, she called Bobby only to ensure that he was home, and then apparated, wanting the distance of apparition to be minimal as she was only apparating based on a photo of Bobby’s home from several years ago. Judging by the shadows on Bobby’s walls, it was now about 4pm and she hadn’t had food since dinner the night before. Going more than 24 hours between meals was not something she wanted to do ever again, so she gave Bobby an embarrassed smile and asked if he had anything to eat.

“Oh.. uh, sure.” Bobby motioned back towards the kitchen and looked equally embarrassed. Hermione thought it unlikely that Bobby had hosted anyone in many years, if ever. Based on his profession and the state of his house, Hermione guessed that anyone coming to see Bobby was not doing so for a purely social call. 

She tucked her wand back in her sleeve and followed him into the kitchen. Bobby started preparing what looked like sandwiches while Hermione stood in the doorway with arms crossed. She hadn’t wanted to discuss her plans for her parents this early in the conversation. Though she had been with Bobby for hours, she knew she was still easing him into the knowledge that witches could be good people and did not necessarily equate to evil. She wasn’t sure if a conversation about mind-altering magic was the best course of action at this point. So instead she asked a question that had been on her mind since learning his true profession from his letters, “Why hunting?”

Bobby paused with his hands on a mayonnaise jar. “I got started with a friend of mine sometime around ‘77. Crazy that it’s been 20 years.” He started to layer turkey and cheese on the bread. “At first I didn’t want to believe any of it. Already had enough flashbacks from ‘Nam to keep me up at night.” Hermione caught a tremor in his hands as he finished making the sandwiches and cut them into halves. He put the sandwiches on a plate and motioned for Hermione to sit at the table. “But once I had seen the evil in the world and been introduced to everything that goes bump in the night - well, I couldn’t unsee it. And I realized it was affecting a lot of people, whether they knew it or not. Guess we got that in common," He made eye contact with Hermione as he sat and grabbed a sandwich, "ain't in our nature to sit back and do nothin'.”

Hermione smiled and wondered if Bobby would have made a better Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. She picked up a sandwich and took a bite. As she chewed, she realized Bobby hadn’t provided her a plate and she briefly wondered if he only had place settings for one person. A phone rang and Bobby quickly approached the wall of phones. Hermione could not tell which one was ringing. He picked up a receiver and practically barked his name into the phone as Hermione started working through a half-sandwich.

“No I don’t,” Bobby gruffed but then paused. “You both heard it? … Ya sure?... Then no, not a banshee.” A longer pause here. “I don’t know. How ‘bout you research the damn place, ya idjit?” Bobby huffed and looked towards Hermione, “I can’t. I’ve got family business… No. Not John… Not my concern. Reminds me - did you try calling here this morning?” There was another pause before Bobby nodded his head and said, “Be safe,” into the receiver before hanging up. 

Hermione studied Bobby as he walked back to the table before giving him a slight grin, “I guess people never stop asking you to help with their homework, do they?”

Bobby huffed a laugh and shrugged. He looked pointedly at the sandwich in Hermione’s hands. “You better finish that. You look like a strong wind could knock you over.”

She grimaced. “After nine months in a tent with limited food and two teenage boys, I’m afraid my stomach hasn’t completely recovered from making due with less.” She gingerly chewed and swallowed another bite. “It was me, by the way.”

Bobby looked at her with questioning eyes.

“I called you this morning,” Hermione muttered sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure you were home, so I called you from the airport.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That was less than five minutes before you showed up at my door,” the unspoken question clear in his tone.

“Witches and wizards can travel by apparition. Think of it as teleporting from one place to another,” she explained.

“Why not just teleport straight here after calling from wherever you were staying with the Weasels?" Bobby asked, obvious suspicion on his face. 

Hermione dusted a crumb from her finger. "The Weasleys," she gave him a pointed look, "do not have a telephone as they only communicate by magical means. Also, apparition is dangerous to most witches if attempted over too long a distance. Particularly so, if you've never been to the destination."

Bobby seemed even more suspicious. "So you've been here before?"

She shook her head. "No. I apparated here after studying the picture. Not advisable under most circumstances, I admit. But I limited the risk of splinching by flying here first."

His suspicion melted into confusion. "Picture?"

Hermione reached down to her ankle, plucked her beaded bag from her sock and set it on the table. She had her wand out and pointed into her bag before she remembered to look at Bobby. He hesitantly jerked his chin down, which Hermione took as acceptance. 

"Accio letters." 

Hermione snatched the envelopes as they flew out of the bag and looked for the one from October 1994. She fished out Bobby's picture taken in front of the Singer Auto Salvage sign and held it out to him but Bobby made no movement towards her. She glanced at his face and realized his eyes were averted not to the picture, but towards her left forearm where her sleeve had pulled up. A dark red 'o' and 'd' were visible on her pale skin just beneath the cuff. 

Hermione dropped the photograph to the tabletop and pulled her arms across her chest. Bobby's eyes trailed her movements before looking down at the picture. His eyes crinkled in the corners. "I forgot about this. The boys thought I was crazy for wanting a picture of this ugly mug." He gestured to his face, then fell into silence. 

After several moments, Bobby cleared his throat and looked at the stack of letters by Hermione's elbow. "That, uh…" he tried again, "That ain't no tattoo, is it?"

She stared at Bobby who continued to studiously avoid eye contact. She uncrossed her arms and with a deep exhale, pulled her left sleeve up to her elbow before extending her arm across the table. Hermione tried not to stare at the word carved into her flesh. 

In those first few days after regaining consciousness at Shell Cottage, she had spent hours looking at it. Her constant nightmares causing her to stay awake for longer and longer stretches. At one point of sleep-deprived delirium, she had even marveled at Bellatrix's penmanship with a blade. Was it a practiced skill? Perhaps Bellatrix had been carving up muggles and muggleborns for decades and no one had noticed, or thought to look. Luckily the pain of the cursed wound died with its creator. However she'd later been told by a healer that the scars would never fade. She could glamour them, and sometimes did, depending on the day or event. But a part of her was loath to cover up a reminder of who she was, and what she had overcome. 

She cleared her throat, not knowing exactly where to begin. But oddly, it was Bobby who said the word first; his tone indicating he finally understood something that had long evaded him. "Mudblood."

Hermione nodded and eyed him curiously, her brown eyes flicking back and forth between his blue. Instead of motioning to her arm, he slid his last letter from the stack, pulled out the paper and unfolded it. He pointed to where he had mentioned a psychic. 

"When I asked Pam to look for you, she… found more than I wrote. It's true that she couldn't locate you, but she saw you in that moment." Bobby took out his flask again. "I just wanted to know if you were alive. Pam started to say yes, but then she… well she just started screaming. She sounded like someone had lit her bones on fire." Bobby's voice grew gruffer, "After the screaming stopped, she kept repeating the question 'what else have you stolen?' The only way I could get her to stop was by slapping her." At these words, Bobby looked sheepish and disgusted. He took off his baseball cap for the first time all day and Hermione could see the start of a receding hairline. He ran one hand over his hair and the other along his beard before putting the cap back on and glancing at Hermione's arm. "The last thing she said as she came back to me was 'filthy mudblood.' I obviously didn't understand and the only thing she would say was that it wasn't her story to tell."

Hermione realized she had been holding her breath while Bobby spoke third-hand about her time at Malfoy Manor. She released a loud long breath before clarifying, "She wouldn’t have been able to locate me because of the wards - like shields around the home. Around Easter we were captured. I was... tortured for information." She let her words pour out like venom from a wound. "One of Voldemort's followers used a curse- the cruciatus curse- that essentially ignites all the pain receptors and nerve endings in the body. It feels like being stabbed by thousands of knives while your body burns from the inside out." She gazed clinically at her forearm. "She also used a cursed blade to remind me of my proper place in the world. You can guess what it means, I'm sure. Interestingly, Bellatrix didn't seem to mind my muddy blood staining the carpets," she concluded with sarcastic disdain. 

Bobby's eyes were fixed on Hermione's face. "And that?" Has gestured to her neck, where she knew the thin red scar existed just above her collar. "That the same knife?"

She nodded. "Yes. Same dagger. Same witch." Hermione couldn't help her small satisfied smile when she added, "She's dead now."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

~~BS~~

Bobby watched as Hermione came back to herself. It had only been two months since he visited Pam. Two months since she had been tormented and mutilated at the hands of a dark witch. From what she said earlier, the war ended in a final battle about two weeks after he'd sent his last letter. Obviously Hermione had escaped and Bobby didn’t think she was the type to spill secrets under pressure. He studied her small frame and wondered how it had taken less than a day to see her as one of the strongest people he knew. He also wondered how batshit crazy someone would have to be to torture a child. He wouldn’t tell Hermione how often he had nightmares of Pam’s screams after that day in April. 

He shook his head to clear his mind and asked, “Did you kill her?”

“No,” she shook her head. Bobby didn’t sense any regret in the statement, which was probably healthy. Hermione pushed her sleeve back down and grabbed another half sandwich only to pick at the bread with her fingers. “Molly - Mrs. Weasley - did after Bellatrix threatened her daughter in the Final Battle.”

Bobby nodded. “At least one adult had their head screwed on right.”

Hermione’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she sat up a bit straighter and ate an actual bite. After swallowing, she looked at the stack of letters still on the table. “What happened to me could have easily happened to my mum and dad… or worse. I knew the risks. I knew the Death Eaters would come looking for me, and if they couldn’t find me they would go to Hampstead. My parents have a basic understanding of the wizarding world, but they don’t live in it. Most muggles are not hunters;” she looked up into Bobby’s face, “they would have been defenseless. I couldn’t defend them and my friends and the only way the war would end was through Harry. So I sent my mum and dad where they would be safe.”

Bobby held his breath. He felt like they’d been dancing around the details of Richard and Jean all day. He waited, hoping Hermione would explain. She sat still for a moment and appeared to be thinking, biting her lower lip in the process. He found himself trying to suppress a grin when she looked so obvious - the gears were definitely turning in that brain. Finally she picked up the letters and put them back in the tiny bag that defied physics. Bobby wondered if the inside looked like a filing cabinet of important papers. He then saw Hermione reach her hand in… and then her whole forearm. He resisted the urge to look underneath his kitchen table for the rest of her arm, thinking he had seen this trick as a child from a circus magician. When the lip of the bag was almost to her armpit, she seemed to grasp something and pulled out a book, a look of satisfaction on her face. Instead of explaining, as he had hoped, she only asked if they could go back in the front room.

“You tryin’ to get away from my cookin’?” he eyed the remains of her sandwich, still on the table, while he rose from his chair. 

Hermione scoffed, “If this is you cooking, it’s a wonder you’ve stayed alive this long.” Her lips twitched. “No, I want to show you this book, and I think we may need more whiskey.” She closed the bag and tucked it back into her sock. 

Bobby stared at her ankle where the bag had vanished, but she just shrugged and walked into the other room. He followed, turning on a few lamps as it was now getting dark. He poured a few fingers of whiskey into her mug and then topped off his flask. His mental to-do list now included buy more whiskey, as well as research whether dead witches could also be vengeful spirits. He may need to go to England if only to salt and burn that bitch Bella- whatever her name was.

Hermione sat the book on the desk while she took a sip from her mug. Bobby went back to his leather chair and noted the title  _ Mind, Memory, and Magic _ . She settled herself opposite him and opened the book to a particular page before clearing her throat, “At the end of my fifth year of school, there was a battle in the Ministry of Magic and I was wounded. As soon as I awoke in the hospital wing at school, I knew the war was then being fought openly and was only going to get worse. Throughout the next few days as I waited for my health to improve, I started making plans to protect my mum and dad. Nothing concrete, but I knew they would need to leave the country, preferably without anyone knowing when they left and where they were going. Coincidentally, when I came home that summer, my dad told me about you - a family member in America, but more importantly, a family member nobody knew about.” She paused here to look down at the book and then up into Bobby’s eyes. “It took me a few months to determine the best way to move forward. At the time, my parents didn’t know about all the horrors I had seen or the fight that was coming. They would not have openly agreed to leave and trying to convince them of an indefinite vacation was out of the question. So when I arrived home for the Christmas holiday, I immediately opened a PO Box and wrote to you.” 

Bobby twitched. He remembered the odd letter that he received just after New Years that year, from a niece he had until then, never spoken with. “I hope I uh… wasn’t too blunt in my response.”

Hermione’s eyes crinkled. “You were blunt. But so was I. I did not blame you under the circumstances. It wasn’t clear to me exactly why they couldn’t stay here, but what was clear was how much you cared for them. Your concern for their wellbeing actually set my final plan into motion.” She smiled openly at him, as if his no-nonsense letter had won him some sort of award. Bobby cocked an eyebrow and gestured for her to proceed.

“I wrote to them from school, telling them about the war, urging them to think of their safety, and notifying them I had written to you. Later, at the end of my sixth year Headmaster Dumbledore was killed; he had been the leader for the Light. It became clear that Harry, Ron, and I would need to hunt the magical artifacts linked to Voldemort’s soul instead of returning to school. The moment I returned home for the summer holiday, I sat down with my parents and they finally realized their safest option was to leave the country. But they wanted me with them. They knew what I was planning to do and that it would be dangerous. They wouldn’t agree with my assessment of the situation, and every day that they delayed leaving was another chance for them to be found by Death Eaters.” Hermione suddenly stopped and looked down at the book. Bobby wasn’t familiar with the title term ‘Obliviation,’ but the description on the page indicated there were various methods for memory removal. 

She spoke again but with more hesitance. “In order to make them leave for Australia, I… I used magic to alter their memories. Richard and Jean Granger technically no longer exist. Instead, I altered their names to Wendell and Monica Wilkins and made them think they had always wanted to move to Australia. They sold their dental practice. They do not know they have a daughter, or a brother in America.” Her eyes flicked up towards Bobby, then away towards the bookcase. 

Bobby was speechless. He had seen some strange magic in his day, but what Hermione was describing, to effectively cut someone out of 18 years of memories, indicated an understanding of the brain that Bobby was pretty sure was unknown to science. He stared at the book unseeing. He wondered about magic that could compel a person to such extremes, to make someone change the entire course of their life, their own name. Bobby could honestly say he was afraid of Hermione in that moment. 

He looked up at her and saw that her eyes were closed, a single tear tracking its way down Hermione’s cheek. His fear was immediately replaced by grief. He thought again over what Hermione had said and realized that if she had died in that war, he would have been her only family member to know or care. He wondered what Richard would make of this, and then a small chuckle escaped him.

“Wendell? That’s the best you could do for your daddy?”

Hermione’s eyes flew open and one corner of her mouth raised. “It couldn’t be anything in any way related to me,” she explained. 

They sat in silence for several minutes. Bobby kept trying to wrap his mind around how this was even possible, but eventually gave up and decided his brain just wasn't that big. He focused again on the book and noticed that the opposite page had a heading for reversing the spell. 

"But you can undo it." He meant it as a statement, but it sounded like a question. 

Hermione looked straight into Bobby's eyes and the look of fierce determination there took his breath away. "No, I can't." Bobby slumped in his chair, but she gave him a small grin, "But we can."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

~~HG~~

If Hermione thought Bobby looked shocked before, it was nothing compared to the wide-eyed terror on his face now. He gripped the edge of the desk, fingertips turning white, "Look, kid, whatever this reversal requires, I'm sure you can handle it. Maybe get some help from a friend? I'm not ready to fling my soul to some hellspawn just to gain some magical powers."

Hermione's eyes grew equally wide as she practically jumped from her chair. "No! No. Definitely not! That's not what I… I had no intention of..." she grabbed the mug with a huff as Bobby went straight for his flask. She attempted to school her breathing as she set the mug back on the desk and collected her scattered thoughts. She looked into Bobby's face, trying to speak calmly, "No, Uncle Bobby. That's not at all what I meant. I have every intention of keeping everyone's soul firmly within their own grasp. I would never ask anything like that of you or anyone else." 

Bobby's posture relaxed by degrees, but he continued to cling to the flask like a lifeline. Hermione continued, "My own life may have been recently upended, but I have no intention of doing the same to yours. The only thing I'm asking for is your understanding and a bit of conversation," she swiveled her gaze from him to her mug, "Trust me, there were definitely more painful options." She heard Bobby drop his flask onto the desk. She looked up and tried to appease him. "Just some blood rituals. Nothing horrible. Really they all seemed like overkill."

Bobby's whole body seemed to droop, whether from exhaustion or relief, Hermione wasn't sure. She wanted to explain the method for finding her parents, as she was particularly proud of that piece of spell work, but he looked like he'd met his limit. He stretched his right arm out towards the book and she caught his hand in her own. Bobby twitched at the contact as if to pull away as his head snapped up, eyes locked on Hermione's. She wondered how much physical contact he received on a regular basis. Hunters didn't exactly seem the touchy feely type. 

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in. Maybe just... think about it, yeah? Take a few days. Do what you need to do. I'll stay in Sioux Falls as long as you need." Hermione spoke firmly but gently. "My family is my top priority now, Bobby. I need my parents and I… I need you." She squeezed his hand before letting go. 

Bobby was still and silent for several seconds, then he rubbed his fingers against his palm as if he could still feel her hand against his. He squinted his eyes at her, "Where are you staying?"

"I'll apparate back to the airport, then get a cab to a hotel nearby. Any recommendations?" Hermione asked as she closed the book and bent to retrieve her beaded bag. 

Bobby studied her face a split second longer before seemingly making up his mind about something. He stood and pushed the flask back into his pocket. He strode to the entry and had almost turned out of sight into the hallway before ordering her to follow. Hermione met him at the base of the stairs. He spoke to the railing, "I don't think I got the sheets back on the bed since the last time the boys were here. Probably oughtta check under the mattress anyway with Dean… nevermind. Just give me a minute to make it more presen… "

Hermione finally realized what Bobby was suggesting and cut him off. "Bobby, no. You don't have to do that. I wasn't meaning to suggest you take me in. I promise I won't leave the area," she spoke softly, trying to catch his eye. 

Finally he turned to face her, "After the story you just told me, you think I'm gonna let you out of my sight?" Hermione raised her eyebrows as Bobby held out a hand to stop her from interrupting. "Look, ki… Hermione. At this point we're the only family either of us have. I ain't about to have you stay at a strange place in a strange town just because we only technically just met. Pretty sure your daddy would never forgive me."

She gave Bobby a radiant smile and was rewarded with a grin of his own. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby," she sniffed. 

"Besides, I expect you've got some sort of jetlag. Probably dead on your feet," Bobby said as he turned and headed up the stairs.

Hermione followed up the stairs and into a bedroom with two twin beds. True to his word, he checked under both mattresses and fished out a magazine that Hermione studiously avoided looking at, along with what she thought was a credit card. He turned back towards her looking apologetic and keeping the pilfered items behind his back. "Sorry 'bout that." He shrugged and simply said, "teenage boys."

Hermione smirked. She knew more than she ever wanted to know about living with teenage boys, so she asked a different question. "So these boys- Dean and Sam right? Do they stay with you often?"

Bobby put the items in his hand in the lowest drawer of the dresser and then pulled open the next drawer where the sheets seemed to be kept. Hermione moved to help him, but he waved her off. He then spoke as he made up one of the beds, "Mostly in the summer. Sometimes their daddy drops 'em off here, depending on what he's hunting. But he's been keepin' 'em with him more often these last few years."

Hermione blinked at him, wide-eyed, "Their father takes them around the country hunting supernatural beings?"

Bobby nodded as he dropped a pillow in the pillow case. "S'pose you could say it's a bit of a family business for them."

"But how did they get an education?" Hermione was indignant. Who would choose that lifestyle for their children? 

She snapped her gaze to Bobby as he started laughing. Truly laughing. She had the distinct impression she was being laughed at or perhaps missing an inside joke. She crossed her arms and glared at Bobby until he finally choked out, "All the dangers of hunting - the possibility of being haunted, possessed, or dying in hundreds of various painful ways - and you're worried about their education?!" 

Hermione felt a blush coming on as she smiled sheepishly, "I have been told that I need to sort out my priorities."


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

~~BS~~

Bobby left Hermione to get ready for bed after pointing out the bathroom across the hall. He moved back downstairs and found himself back in the front room. He pulled every book he had on witches and sat them on the desk. He then went downstairs to his fireproof safe where he kept his old journals and pulled everything he had from 1976 - 1993 and brought it back upstairs. As he set them on the desk, he could hear Hermione crossing from the bathroom back into her bedroom. However once she shut the bedroom door, the house became ominously silent. Bobby wondered how she made no noise when it seemed the boys couldn’t be in the house without sounding like a herd of elephants. 

Once it seemed Hermione must be asleep, Bobby quietly made himself a cup of coffee and then spent the next three hours looking at all of his information on witches. At no point did he find anything about natural magics, natural witches, and certainly nothing about wizards. His head was starting to get heavy as he looked back through his journals. A niggling doubt stuck in his head. What if he had hunted a natural witch at some point by mistake? He’d gone through almost a decade’s worth of journals before his thoughts stuttered and he fell asleep at the desk.

He woke several hours later with a throbbing crick in his neck. The skin on his right temple was irritated from the hat that had dug into his scalp for the last few hours. He started to stretch but realized a blanket he didn’t recognize was laid across his shoulders. His eyes darted around the room but saw no sign of Hermione. Slowly he righted himself and stood from the desk, throwing the blanket over the back of the chair. The light coming through the blinds indicated it was dawn and he guessed he had been asleep for about three hours.

He thought about a shower and had just started to walk into the hallway to head upstairs when he heard a man’s voice from the other side of his front door. Bobby edged closer to the door and put his hand on the shotgun still laying on the entry table when he realized he could also hear Hermione. 

“You really didn’t need to. I told you I’d be fine.” It was only 5AM and already she sounded exasperated.

The man: “Yes, but Hermione, you’ve never met the man. You didn’t even tell us his name. Who knows what could happen to you over there on the other side of the world. I bought these so we could keep in touch, and I intend to use them.” At these words, Bobby’s brain kicked into gear.

“Oh please, Harry,” Harry? Hermione’s friend, then. What was he doing here? Bobby’s hand moved away from the shotgun as Hermione continued, “I’m in the United States. The other side of the world from England is New Zealand.”

“Not my point, Hermione.” the man… Harry sighed. “We don’t even know where you are in the United States. I know that big brain of yours can understand that it is a fairly large country.”

Bobby was intrigued. Hermione hadn’t told anyone who he was or where he lived? He assumed her friends knew her travel plans. How had Harry shown up at his doorstep without knowing where he lived?

“Harry, I told you and Ron that this was a delicate family matter. You know how important it is that I get him to trust me.” Something in Hermione’s tone made Bobby think there was something going unsaid. “He lives alone in the middle of nowhere. He values privacy. If I told you where I was going and you decided to show up in some misguided attempt to rescue me, you’d probably get yourself shot.” 

Bobby grinned at Hermione’s description of him being a paranoid bastard, and started to feel a bit bad for eavesdropping. But he still wanted to figure out how Harry had found his house, no matter if he was the supposed hero of a wizarding war. 

“Look, ‘Mione. I know you want to mend fences and that he’s your link to family,” Harry placated. “But I’m your family too. We’ve been watching each other’s backs since the troll.” Troll?! Bobby had so many questions. Too many questions. He wondered if he ought to just go back to bed, but he heard Hermione scoff. 

“Fine,” continued Harry, “_ You’ve _ been watching _ my _ back since then. But let me repay the favor. You’re my sister, Hermione. I don’t know much about family, but I know I’m allowed to care for your safety.”

Harry’s words touched a chord with Bobby. He thought of Sam and Dean always watching each other’s backs. He thought of Rufus in the ‘80s. Bobby found himself opening the front door and stepping out, wanting to meet this Harry Potter. 

What Bobby met, though, was the back of Hermione’s head with his kneecap as she fell backward into his leg. He heard Hermione yell, “Merlin!,” as he realized she had been sitting with her back against the front door. She instantly righted herself by grasping the door frame and twisted around to look up into his face.

Balls, Bobby thought. Give the kid a concussion within 24 hours. Good going.

He averted his gaze down to his hand where he still held the doorknob. “Sorry,” he grumbled, sleep still heavy in his voice. “I heard you talking to…” Bobby’s voice cut off as he realized there was no one else on the porch.

But he heard Harry’s voice again, “‘Mione? Are you okay? What happened? Did you drop me?”

Bobby looked quizzically at Hermione to see she was holding a small mirror. Hermione looked from him, back into the mirror before speaking into it like a radio, “I’m fine, Harry. Just got a bit upended by my uncle, who just opened the door.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, and then seeming to fully realize the situation, repeated himself with gravity, “Ohhh. I’ll let you go then, yeah? Have a nice trip!” He said with false brightness.

“Thanks, Harry. And again - remember that I’m at least 5 hours behind you. If you call again, please wait until,” Hermione cut off as Bobby stuck his hand out towards the mirror to get her attention.

Bobby cleared his throat and looked at Hermione, “You can tell him.”

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and she asked, “Are you sure?” just as Harry said, “What was that?”

Bobby looked into Hermione’s eyes and nodded. If Hermione trusted the kid, that was good enough for him. Hell, this kid was the savior of a secret wizard society. She turned to look back into the mirror and Bobby realized he could see what must be Harry’s face where he expected Hermione’s reflection. He saw her open her mouth to speak, but then she turned back to Bobby and handed him the mirror with a slight smirk.

Instinctively, Bobby held the mirror up to eye level and was rewarded by Harry looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Bobby coughed, “Uh, hey, kid. My name is Bobby Singer and I live in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I, uh,” He glanced down at Hermione and then back to Harry, “I promise I won’t let nothin’ happen to Hermione.” Bobby saw Harry’s eyes narrow, but then he nodded sharply and Bobby handed the mirror back to Hermione. 

He motioned to Hermione that he was going to go back inside and carefully shut the door behind him. He stood behind the door just long enough to hear Harry question if Bobby really just called him a “kid.” Bobby’s lips quirked as he went upstairs to shower. 

When he got back downstairs, Hermione was at the desk, looking at his old journals. She looked up as he entered and immediately rushed out, “Sorry about Harry. He’s not used to contacting anyone in different time zones. I told him to wait 3 days before calling me, but of course he didn't listen. I hope we didn't wake you." Hermione speech sped up, seemingly unable to stop, "I just finished this book on hex bags and coins and I thought I heard your dog, when I heard Harry calling. I was already-"

Bobby held up both hands in an attempt to stop the onslaught of Hermione’s words. “Woah, tiger,” Bobby soothed. Hermione’s mouth snapped shut and she raised an eyebrow at him. “I have a lot of questions. But I ain’t had any coffee yet, and your motor mouth is running with more horsepower than I can muster.” Hermione snapped her mouth shut but her eyes crinkled in the corners. 

He motioned for Hermione to follow him to the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. He heard her pull out a chair at the kitchen table, but he didn’t turn back towards her, opting instead to stare out the window over his sink. Once he could smell coffee, he went to the cupboard and brought down two mugs. He finally looked towards Hermione and realized she was reading a book. Bobby cleared his throat to get her attention and raised a mug to Hermione in question. She nodded.

He turned back to the counter and set the mugs down as Hermione spoke, “It’s lion, you know.” 

Bobby turned back around and leaned on the counter, arms crossed in front of him, “What’s lion?”

She grinned before explaining, “You called me ‘tiger’ - but in school, I was a lion. Hogwarts is separated into four houses - like dorms where you spend your free time - and I was in Gryffindor. The sigil is a lion.”

“So what are the other three?” he queried as he poured coffee into the mugs. He drank his black, and apparently so did Hermione as she ignored the sugar he set out on the table. 

“Badgers, Ravens, and Snakes,” Hermione stated succinctly. 

“How do they determine which house you’re in?” Bobby asked with more feeling. The coffee was doing its job.

Her eyes crinkled, “Magic.”

Bobby fixed Hermione with an unimpressed stare. She broke into an impish grin, “Actually it’s a sentient hat that can read your mind and sorts children based on personality traits.”   
  
Bobby did a spit take.   
Balls.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

~~HG~~

After recovering from getting hot coffee up his nose, Bobby continued to ask Hermione questions about her school and the wizarding world. He was mostly fascinated by the laws that governed magic: why you can’t bring people back from the dead, why you can’t create food or money. He fried some bacon and made some toast, which they ate greedily and agreed they would not break out the whiskey until Noon at the earliest. An agreement that was tested repetitively as Hermione told him about her years of school before the Second Wizarding War officially began. Hermione enjoyed his curiosity, but the nostalgia she felt over explaining the wizarding world made her wish for her parents’ company. 

They had moved back into the front room to sit across from one another and were currently having a discussion about the differences between muggle creatures and magical creatures. Hermione’s current hypothesis was that the magical gene affected creatures and humans even in death, as it seemed ghosts, ghouls, and poltergeists in the magical world were more nuisance than violent. However, she was well aware her evidence was anecdotal. 

She was disheartened to hear that from Bobby’s perspective, anything that wasn’t human was held with great suspicion and should be treated as highly dangerous if not worth killing outright. She wanted to argue the ethics of a “shoot first, ask questions later” approach to creatures, but they were interrupted by Bobby’s phone ringing again.

He stood to answer the phone and Hermione eyed the books still on the desk. She had been awake several hours earlier than Bobby, having woken from another nightmare and had already looked through his texts on witches and witchcraft. She was, however, still very curious about the journals. She had peeked through a few while Bobby was showering, but once she realized what they were, they felt too personal to study without permission. 

He walked into the kitchen and Hermione heard him answer, “This is Frank.” Her eyebrow raised and she turned in her seat as Bobby paused then spoke again, “Yes ma’am I did. Have you seen anything similar?... Red markings on both sides of the neck on both victims, hmm? Would you describe it as more of a contusion or a puncture wound?” Hermione’s curiosity was burning and her feet led her into the kitchen almost without her knowledge. 

Bobby listened for several seconds and then spoke, “No, ma’am. It doesn’t match the description of the viral infection we are tracking, but I’ll send a man down to take a report and some samples. Thank you for notifying me.” Bobby hung up and Hermione realized the phone he had used was labeled ‘C.D.C..’ She looked at the other phones while Bobby picked up a different unmarked line to place a call and realized they were all labeled with different government entities. 

Bobby waited for several seconds, before leaving a message, “John, you might want to look into a possible vamp nest in Marshfied, Missouri. Just had a call from a Judy Bowers at the hospital there - several victims. I’ve got my own thing going and can’t cover it.”

Hermione was impressed. Bobby clearly had resources, knowledge, and a network of support. She found herself wondering how differently the fight against Voldemort could have gone if Harry didn’t only have her and Ron with a book of children’s stories. Not for the first time she wondered what Dumbledore’s game had really been. She realized Bobby had hung up the phone and was staring at her as if waiting for her response.

“Sorry, what was that?” she asked.

“I asked if you’d be okay running into town with me for some food.” Bobby scratched at his beard and peered intently at Hermione. She must have been lost in thought for longer than she realized. 

“Of course. I was actually going to offer to make a meal, but I didn’t know…” Hermione gestured to the aged refrigerator. 

Bobby scoffed, “Look kid, I definitely ain’t opposed to you making food, but if you’d like anything other than meat, bread, and alcohol, we’d best get going.” 

Hermione followed him to the backdoor. Outside, she was properly introduced to the dog - Cheney - who looked fairly complacent for an animal meant as a guard. Of course, after seeing Fluffy at age 12, Hermione thought she’d never be scared of a regular dog again. 

Once inside Bobby’s old blue truck and headed down the driveway, Hermione asked, “How did you meet John?” 

Bobby made a noise that seemed to be half laugh, half groan, “We were working the same job back in ‘86.”

Hermione turned in the passenger side of the truck to get a better look at Bobby’s face, “What happened?”

He continued to stare straight ahead, left hand on the steering wheel, right hand on the gear shift as he spoke, “It was a vengeful spirit up in Delaware. That much was clear to me. But John thought it was a demon. Back then John thought everything was a demon. Or maybe hoped it was.” Bobby’s voice faded out as nostalgia seemed to overtake him. 

Hermione waited for Bobby to continue, but he was silent. She shifted in her seat and the movement seemed to get his attention, as he continued, “Typically if two hunters turn up in the same town for the same hunt it becomes a giant pissin’ contest. Can’t help ourselves, really. We get used to working alone and don’t like it when other people get in the way.”

Hermione could easily picture the scenario. “But you two managed to work together?” she tried to clarify.

“Nope,” Bobby retorted as his beard twitched. “It was a contest and I definitely won. Did the salt and burn myself before John ever wised up.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Bobby as they slowed for a stop light. “So how did you become friends?”

Bobby looked over at Hermione. “After I cleaned up, I went to his motel to gloat. Only I didn’t find him, I found his boys. Dean was probably six or seven at the time; Sam must have been about three. Dean aimed a shot gun at my head through the crack in the motel door.” Bobby turned back to the road and drove another few blocks before continuing, “I couldn’t imagine why any hunter would have kids. Kids are just one more vulnerability.” 

Hermione’s thoughts spiralled. Was this why Bobby never had kids of his own? What had happened to those boys’ mother that they were forced into Hunting at such a young age? Without knowing what Dean looked like, she suddenly pictured her fellow Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, as a child, holding a gun on a stranger. She sorrowfully contemplated if she knew anyone who managed to maintain innocence throughout childhood. 

Bobby turned into the parking lot of a small grocer and was just pulling into a spot when he added, “I didn’t know what to do about the boys, so I told them to call their daddy, and John showed up back at the motel. He looked so beaten down. Next thing I knew I was offerin’ to buy him a drink.” Bobby shut the truck off and the silence in the cab seemed entirely too loud. He spoke again, eyes trained on the steering wheel, “After that, he’d come by every now and then with the boys, if they were in the area. Sometimes he’d drop them off with me while he did a hunt alone. Occasionally still does. I tried to give ‘em something normal - taught them how to throw a ball, took ‘em deer hunting. But John and those boys - they’ve got huntin’ in their blood. Ain’t nothing normal about the Winchesters.”

Hermione filed the name away for further research. She followed as Bobby exited the truck, her thoughts stuck on images of her uncle as a younger man. He had already been hunting for ten years when he met the Winchesters. How did Bobby even know what  _ normal _ was?

In the store, he let Hermione pick the food while he went straight to the liquor. She meandered around the aisles, thinking this was the first time she'd been in a store since hiding under Harry's invisibility cloak and surreptitiously leaving payment in the till. She took her time, enjoying the freedom that came with shopping in a place where no one recognized her.

There had been several  _ Daily Prophet  _ articles immediately after Voldemort’s defeat that were surprisingly factual about the Final Battle and the actions the Light had taken to defeat the Death Eaters. After a couple weeks though, the paper turned to more “public interest” pieces about Harry, Hermione, and Ron, which lead to a lot of blushing and hiding on their parts when they had to be seen in public.  _ Witch Weekly _ had gone so far as to owl her a series of questions for an interview that included ‘What kind of pants does Harry Potter wear?,’ ‘Does Ronald Weasley have a crown tattooed on his bum?,’ and her favorite, ‘What were her choice of robes for living life on the run?’ Hermione had taken care of that particular piece of parchment with a hasty  _ Incendio _ . 

After finding what she needed, she wandered back to the front of the store and found Bobby holding two bottles of whiskey and a 12 pack of beer. He appeared to be scanning headlines on the newspaper racks. She nudged him with the hand basket, “If you’re ready, I can pay for-”

Bobby cut her off as he turned to face her, “Nope. What kind of host would I be? 'Sides, you ain't 21."

"Can I at least give you some money for the food?" Hermione offered. "After all, you didn't exactly know you were going to have guests."

Bobby raised his brows and moved towards the tills, "Suit yourself. You can pay me back once we get home."

As he handled the transaction, Hermione pondered over his words.  _ We. Home. _ Hermione's home, or lack thereof, was like a thorn in her emotional side. She was effectively homeless and had been since the day her parents forgot her. Home was where her mum sat on the sofa discussing books. Where her dad helped her decorate for Christmas. Where she was comfortable no matter the time or day. Molly had tried to make The Burrow her home, but it was never hers. Not really. She loved the Weasleys, but their home was a circus and not particularly restful. 

But Bobby… Bobby was restful. He had an easy way of speaking that seemed to simplify any situation. She pondered if that came from being a mechanic or a hunter. His house was not her home, she knew. But if the reversal of her parents' memories did not work as planned, then she may need Bobby's simplicity. She couldn't help but wonder if maybe Bobby needed her too.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

~~BS~~

They rode back to his home in silence. Bobby watched Hermione from the corner of his eye as she chewed her lower lip and stared blankly through the windshield, hands clasped tightly in her lap. At first he was concerned that he'd said the wrong thing about her paying for the food. But he didn't think Hermione was the type to be petty. He then watched her slowly move her hand to cover her left forearm atop her sleeve, and decided to let her be. Bobby knew enough about surviving a war to know the memories snuck up on you. 

Her silence continued once they got home and put the food away. She turned to face him after closing the refrigerator door, her shoulders tense, hands clasped behind her back. Bobby wasn't sure why, but it suddenly seemed like they were back to where they started yesterday, with awkward silences and secrets stretched between them. He also wasn't sure why he hated that thought. 

"Look, kid," he murmured, trying to catch her eye, "if you've got something to say to me, you go right on ahead. I think I've proved I don't scare easily."

She took a large breath and cleared her throat before forcing out, "I know you want to hear more about recovering my parents. I'm not purposely keeping the information from you, but I-"

"You're stalling," Bobby concluded. 

Hermione's eyes widened. She held her hands out in supplication. "Yes," she started to pace, "but not because of you."

"So, what then? You waitin' on something? Is this some sort of ritual that can only be done at a full moon?" Bobby's mind started to run through a myriad of possibilities. "Please don't tell me it involves a sacrifice…"

Hermione stopped traversing the hardwood, placed her hands on her hips and abruptly went into what Bobby was starting to think of as 'lecture mode.' "Of course not. The sacrificial element was brought in at the beginning, when I sacrificed my childhood, my parents." Her voice took on a rougher quality as she concluded, "I effectively orphaned myself so that my parents could and would disconnect themselves from their lives in England."

Bobby was curious about the balance of magic at which she hinted. It seemed to suggest a sort of magical ying and yang. No protection without sacrifice. Bobby knew a thing or two about that. Every hunter did. 

He focused his thoughts, realizing Hermione had resumed her pacing. "So, what then? Why not now?" he asked. 

"I just," she sighed, "What if…" Hermione stopped by the fridge and whispered to the corner of the kitchen, "What if they don't forgive me?” Her voice was ragged, “What if they don’t want me back?"

Bobby was certain the confusion on his face was evident as she slowly turned to face him. He repeated her words, as if testing their weight on his tongue, "Don't… want… you?"

She huffed and put her hands into her hair as she clarified, "I took their memories, Bobby! I stole their lives. Their own daughter! How can they possibly forgive that? They'll be furious. Even worse, they'll be scared. Frightened of their own child." Hermione's breathing was fast and ragged. She gestured wildly as she practically snarled, "I did what I had to for the _ greater good _." She scoffed at the words but kept speaking. "Maybe I'm not as bad as Dumbledore, but I manipulated them all the same. It was an abuse of power. I knew it then and I know it now. How could they want me back in their lives after what I've done to them?"

Bobby stood as a statue in his kitchen, processing his shock at her outburst. He watched Hermione desperately try to fight tears before collapsing to sit against the fridge, knees pulled up to her bowed forehead. Bobby still didn't move. His heart ached for the kid, but the realist in him knew that her fears were warranted. Hell, even he had been scared of her when she told him about removing Jean and Richard's memories. He racked his brain for something to say, something to make it better.

He slowly approached Hermione and sat down against the cupboards to her right. He tried for his best Agent Willis 'sorry for your loss' tone that he used with families of victims while on the hunt, "I think you're forgetting a few things, kid." He leaned slightly to his left until their shoulders connected. "You told them your reasons for keeping them safe. They knew they would have to leave and they knew why. And your parents will remember that."

Hermione picked up her head and trained her red-rimmed eyes on Bobby's face. He looked at her and saw the remorse, the fear, and the slightest bit of hope. 

"Your daddy and your mama will get a chance to move forward in their lives knowing they have a daughter who fought tooth and nail for what was right," Bobby summarized. "And you made sure that the England they can come home to is safe. You may have taken away their choices, but you're gonna give ‘em back. They can decide in their own time how they'll forgive you, but at least you're giving them that chance." 

"But what if they’re happier now? Happier without-" Hermione interjected with a shaky voice. 

“Without _ you_?" Bobby felt a tinge of anger and turned to face her directly, willing her to understand. "No chance. They love you, kid. You're their child. Their ONLY child. They may not know you now, but I’m sure they can feel your absence, whether they understand it or not.” Hermione turned to Bobby and indicated she wanted to interrupt again, so he grabbed her hand in his. “Trust me, Hermione. I know a thing or two about having a parent who would have been happier without his kid. But that’s not Richard or Jean. They may be happy in Australia. But it ain’t their home. Your life with them - that’s home.” He squeezed her hand, trusting her to understand his meaning. “Remember - you survived that war. From what you told me, not everybody did. Don’t ruin your own chance at happiness.” He dropped her grasp, setting his own hands back in his lap. 

She took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled before wiping her eyes. She gave a small smile to Bobby and nodded her head. They continued to sit on the floor in silence, staring into the front room. Bobby’s thoughts wandered to Karen, to having someone to come home to. What he wouldn’t give to go back and protect her from the evil of the world. What he wouldn’t give to wipe his memory of that last horrible argument.

Bobby had 20 years to come to terms with Karen’s death, and yet he still found it painful. Every hunt, every demon possession (though they were fewer and farther between these days) reminded him of the knowledge he didn’t have then. But after all this time, his grief was more familiar to him than Karen’s smile. Her laugh was a distant memory compared to the taste of the whiskey that chased it away. 

With a huff, Bobby reached up backwards onto the kitchen counter and grabbed one of the newly purchased bottles of alcohol. He brought it down in front of him and noticed Hermione’s eyes searching his expression. After unscrewing the top, he took a sip straight from the bottle and then offered it to her. She didn’t hesitate in following his example before setting the bottle on the floor between them. 

After several more drinks for each of them, he grumbled, “Guess I should be careful… giving alcohol to a minor.”

The corner of Hermione’s mouth quirked and Bobby figured his lame comment had done some good. He sighed and asked, “Ya good?” She nodded. “Good. ‘Cause I may look young, but I’m too old to be sittin’ on the floor this long.” She gave a small chuckle and stood, holding out a hand to help him up. 

She stood awkwardly next to him for another second before looking him in the eye and murmuring, “Thank you.” Bobby nodded. She then turned to look at the clock and asked, “Dinner?”

“Dinner,” he agreed. “Let me know if you need any help.” Hermione shook her head and shooed him away from the kitchen counter. 

Bobby checked his answering machine. No return calls from John, but he wasn't surprised. He turned on the radio, listening for a news update as he sat down in his desk chair. He was surprised how restful it felt having Hermione in his house. When she first showed up yesterday- God, was that only yesterday?- and he offered for her to stay, he was convinced he'd never relax. Of course, his mind had been racing with secret wars and magical powers beyond his comprehension.

He listened through the news broadcast, sounds of Hermione moving dishes and opening cupboards reaching him from the next room. Nothing interesting to report. He'd check the papers later tonight. He was switching off the radio when Hermione stuck her head in from the doorway announcing the food was ready. 

Bobby walked in and saw two place settings on his worn kitchen table. Salad and spaghetti topped each plate. He sat and contemplated the last time this table had been set. Probably 20 years ago. 

Hermione sat across from him and with a hint of mischief in her eyes asked, "Do all your drawers and cupboards have false bottoms?"

Bobby shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, "Found those, huh? Ya can't be too careful."

The corners of her mouth lifted as she motioned for Bobby to start eating. She lifted her fork as well, "What else do you have around here? Hidden passageways? Secret bunkers? A panic room?"

Bobby stopped chewing. A panic room,hmm… ain't a bad idea.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

~~HG~~

Hermione watched Bobby eat his dinner in silent contemplation. She wasn't exactly sure what was on his mind, but it was obvious he was thinking deeply. He didn't say anything about the pasta but had a second helping, so she assumed it met his approval. After eating, he went to grab a beer from the refrigerator and offered her one but she declined. 

He sat back at the table, cracking open the can. “So,” he sipped the beer, "We've had a lot of conversation since yesterday, but I'm guessing you need something specific."

Hermione knew he was referring to the reversal of the memory charm. She smiled at his understanding of the situation and started to detail her plan, “It's actually just one sentence from you."

Bobby quirked his eyebrows at her. 

She sighed, knowing the full explanation was lengthy, but dove in anyway, “When I performed the memory charm, I included a… loophole, if you will. Somewhat of a loose string that, if pulled, will lead them back from their charmed memories to the reality they had prior to June 1997. It requires a trigger to be activated. Because no two minds work in the same way, the trigger is different for both of my parents.” She paused to see if Bobby had questions, but he quietly took another sip of his beer and motioned for her to continue. “You are my Dad’s trigger, Bobby. I am the trigger for my Mum. There are specific phrases we have to say in the presence of my parents- or in your case, in my presence in order for them to start remembering.”

Bobby's eyes narrowed, “Why don't I have to be in Richard's presence?”

She stood and began to pace, "My father has never met you in person. His memories of your words are stronger than the need to hear them in your voice. But he knows what you look like and has to see you say them."

"But you just said I don't-" 

Bobby began to interrupt as Hermione spoke over him, "I have a way to share my memories with them. Think of it as a video recorder. If you tell me the key phrase, I can show him that memory after I've spoken with Mum.” She stopped and turned to Bobby who looked more skeptical than she would like.

“You’re tellin’ me that you brought a video camera all the way to South Dakota, just to hear me say one sentence?” Yes - definitely heavy on the skepticism.

“No, Bobby,” she huffed, “I came here to meet you. There’s a reason that _ you _ are the person that will bring back my Dad’s memories. Trust me when I say I could have easily handled both myself.” Hermione didn’t like to show off her competence very often, but he needed to understand his own importance.

She sat down again in the kitchen chair as Bobby asked in a small voice, “But why _ me_?” 

Hermione leaned into the table, catching Bobby’s eyes under the brim of his hat, “It has to be you, Bobby. You were my Dad’s lifeline to his family. His grief was very deep for my gran but when he found you, he had something worth holding onto. Your letters kept him going when even my Mum was concerned. He kept your photo in a frame on his desk at home, right next to one of me and Mum. Don’t discount the effect you’ve had on my family, Uncle Bobby,” she finished softly.

He stared back at her, eyes wide, fingers tapping the side of his beer. “But… we’d never even met.” 

Hermione reached out and stilled his fingers on the can. “You’re his brother, Bobby. But more importantly, you chose to be his brother. You said so yourself - you could have easily never responded to his letter. But you did, and you’ve been building a bond ever since - in heart and soul, and mind.” At this word, Hermione gestured to her own head with raised eyebrows, urging him to accept his role.

Bobby sat motionless at her words. Hermione got up to start washing dishes, deciding he may need some time to think. She had just moved on to drying when she heard Bobby push his chair back from the table. He walked over and grabbed another towel, starting to dry the other plate. 

They finished drying the dishes in silence and Hermione was just hanging her damp towel over the cupboard door when Bobby spoke, “So what’s the sentence?”

She straightened and turned towards him as he leaned against the countertop. She grinned slightly as she recited, “Maybe an early retirement to Australia would be better for you.”

Bobby raised his eyebrows and ran a hand over his mustache. She could tell he remembered writing that same sentence 16 months ago in his last letter to her dad. He went back to the refrigerator for another beer, offering her one, but she again declined.

After opening the can, he gestured her into the front room and they took up their now familiar positions at the desk. “So I just say it, and you’ll remember it, and then what?”

“Then I go to Australia and find them. I’ll first say my trigger phrase to Mum, then once she’s recovered, she’ll help me convince Dad to view my memory of you saying your sentence,” she explained.

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, “You just expect your Mum to turn right around and convince your Dad? Won’t there be a period of shock, or a timelapse?”

Hermione bit her lower lip, “Yes, I suppose there could be. The timeline for memory retrieval is different for each person.” She knew the risks and it was possible her dad could not be convinced before doing something foolish, like calling the police or demanding that she leave.

Bobby seemed unimpressed by her answer, judging by his dour expression and tone, “And how about finding them? You don’t know their address. Do you even know what city they’re in?” 

She squared her shoulders. This was her plan and she would not show hesitance in her decisions, “I know they were headed towards Brisbane. I can easily go there and start asking after them with police, possibly even with help from the Australian Ministry of Magic.”

Bobby huffed in disbelief, “And how long will that take? You’re one person, looking for two people in a population of what? 1.5 million? You may have magic powers, but its magic you can’t use in front of normal people. What happens if they’re not even in Brisbane? Maybe Monica and Wendell decided they liked small town life better. Maybe they met some other expats and are now living the high life in New Zealand. Maybe they found a love for scuba diving and live in a boat off the Great Barrier Reef.” He broke off his tirade to reach for his beer. 

Hermione’s own anxious mind continued his concerns with her worst fear - _ maybe they’re dead. _ She understood, particularly now, that life was a gamble and she had placed a very large bet by sending her parents away without any form of contact. It had to be that way, she knew, but Bobby’s keen insight into the muddier details of her plan had her stomach doing somersaults.

Bobby continued to drink his entire beer in several large sips. Its hollow clunk as he set it back on the desk was the only preface to his next question, “So when do we go to Australia?”

Hermione gaped at him. She had never planned for Bobby to go with her. She had assumed he wouldn’t want to leave his hunting lifestyle in the States. Her intent was to spend a few days easing him into the truth and then once he’d understood what she needed, she’d get another portkey from Kingsley and go straight to Brisbane. 

She blinked several times before clearing her throat, “You… You don’t have to come with me. I didn’t expect you to want to come.”

Bobby leaned forward and placed his palms flat on the desk. “Look, kid. You are clearly going to need some help when you get there. And it definitely sounds like it will be easier if we’re both there to speak these trigger phrases to Richard and Jean at the same time.” He paused to catch her gaze, “Richard found me once. I’ll be damned if I don’t return the favor. Besides, I think I can help with the locating part.”

“You can?” Hermione asked with wide eyes.

“I’ve got some tracking equipment. It’s usually used to locate things a lot less friendly than your folks, but I think it could work. If not, I’ll ask Pam to recommend a psychic to us who lives Down Under.” Bobby started to pull paper and pen from a desk drawer.

Hermione felt a bubble of hope building inside her chest. For the first time since casting the _ Obliviate _ on her parents, she felt almost certain that she would have them back. And a small portion of her felt that her parents would be less hostile towards her if Bobby was with her when they remembered. She clarified in a small voice, “You’re sure you want to leave your home? I don’t know how long it will take. It may not be the smartest decision.”

He paused midway through a list, stared up at her and snorted, “Hell - I think it’s pretty stupid. But if we’re gonna be stupid, we might as well be smart about it.”


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

~~BS~~

They spent the remainder of the evening discussing the logistics of the trip. Hermione would need to return to England to exchange currencies and obtain something called a "portkey." She ensured Bobby it was much faster than flying, but he noticed she didn't comment on if it was more comfortable. While she was getting supplies in England, he was going to call Pamela Barnes and get everything set for the tracking spell.

They parted ways around 11pm, and when Bobby awoke the next morning at dawn, Hermione was already gone; a note on the kitchen table indicated she’d return in the afternoon or call if she was held up. Bobby found no sign that Hermione had eaten breakfast. He couldn’t be positive, but it seemed like she didn’t eat or sleep much; a common problem for trauma survivors. He hoped she’d fare better after Richard and Jean were with her again. 

After gathering supplies for tracking, he wandered downstairs to the basement, thoughts of a potential panic room still on his mind. Bobby was so focused on the dimensions that he almost missed the phone ringing. He hurried up the stairs and realized it was his personal line. Bobby’s phone didn’t usually ring this early so he answered, “Hey, kid,” expecting Hermione on the other line.

“Kid? I know I look better than you, old man, but last I checked, neither of us are spring chickens,” came John Winchester’s low drawl. 

“John,” Bobby huffed, “You and the boys aren’t usually up this early. Everything okay?”

“This early? Shit, Dean and I haven’t even gone to bed." At this Bobby heard Dean murmuring in the background, but John continued to explain over the phone, "Mysterious death of a night janitor at a hospital in Spokane. That's actually why I'm calling, we aren't at all close to Missouri."

Bobby understood immediately what John was really saying. He sighed, "Ya know, you could call Ellen yourself and have her pass on the job."

"You know I can't do that, Bobby," John mumbled. A moment of silence passed as both men remembered Bill Harvelle. Bobby still didn't know exactly what had happened between the men on that hunt, but John's guilt said enough. 

John cleared his throat, "Why aren't you taking it? You're clearly home."

Bobby was irritated by John's hidden meaning that somehow Bobby wasn't pulling his share, but he knew John always got defensive when Ellen or Bill came up. He thought about dodging the question, but he figured someone should probably know he'd be gone for an indefinite vacation. "Actually I've got some other business… family business," he murmured. 

"Really. You're brother's actually here?" 

Bobby could hear Dean in the background more clearly, "Bobby's got a brother?"

"No and please tell him no," Bobby snapped. He couldn't help feeling like Dean knowing about the Grangers, and especially Hermione, would be a very bad thing. He calmed slightly and added, "He's not here, but I need to take care of some things for his family. I'll be gone for… well, awhile."

"Suit yourself, Mr. Cryptic," John gruffed before barking at Dean to mind his own business. 

Bobby attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere by asking, "Sam's not with you?" 

“Kid is too hotheaded for his own good.” The anger in John’s voice was evident. “Told him to take a break and left him at the motel.” 

Bobby privately acknowledged that it wasn’t only Sam that was too hotheaded. But to John he only gave a gruff sendoff, “M’kay. Be careful, John. Talk soon,” before hanging up the line.

Bobby listened to another news broadcast and mentally went through his supplies in the house. He called Ellen at the Roadhouse and passed on the information for a potential hunt in Missouri. He wondered just how prepared he should be in Australia. Without his truck, he had no way of bringing the usual arsenal, and though he didn’t expect to need it, his palms sweat just thinking about leaving the house without hunting supplies. 

The phone rang again and Bobby barely got the receiver to his ear before hearing Pam’s voice, “Hey, Bobby. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, caught off guard.

“You’ve been on my mind the past two days,” Pam declared, as if this should be obvious. “What’s going on? Is it related to that lovely lady friend of yours?” excitement now evident in her tone. 

“Pam, you and I both know I have no lady friends. But it is related to the same girl from April.” Bobby never knew how much Pam could foresee and he tried not to lie to her if possible.

“Oh, I know. But why are you looking for her if she’s not your friend?” she asked curiously.

“I’m not looking for her. Listen, do you know any psychics of your caliber in other countries?” Bobby quickly changed the subject.

“Other countries? Bobby, I’m hurt. What kind of psychic would I be if I could only get intel on America? Trust me, if I can summon beings from other planes of existence, I can find anything you need on this planet. I found your lady friend, didn’t I?” It sounded like Pam was pouting.

“Actually if you recall, you didn’t,” he gruffed pointedly. “And it’s… complicated. I’m going to be in Australia and may need help once I get there.”

“Ooo, a vacation?! And you’re not inviting me?” Pam teased.

“Look, princess. This ain’t gonna be long walks on the beach,” he sighed. “I don’t know where I’m going or how long I’ll be there. Honestly, I’m not even sure Australia is the right location, but it’s the best place to start.” 

Pam was silent for a few seconds, as if trying to puzzle together exactly what it was that Bobby wasn’t saying. She hesitantly replied, “That’s oddly secretive, even for you, Bobby,” 

“Sorry, Pam. It’s the best I got right now. So do you know anyone?”

“I’ll find out. But Bobby,” she paused and Bobby frowned, “Can I meet her?”

“Uh… what?” Bobby was unsure how much he should let on that he had found Hermione, and that she was currently his houseguest.

“She’s something special, isn’t she?” Pam whispered. 

Bobby’s mind raced, wondering exactly what Pam knew or had seen. Was she referring to Hermione’s magical ability? The fact she was his niece? Her personality? He murmured, “Yeah, yeah she is,” only realizing after the fact that he actually knew it to be true. 

Pam was silent for several more seconds before giving a bright farewell, “Well, let me work on that research for you, Bobby. We’ll talk soon.” 

Bobby slowly hung up the phone, his mind churning. Even Pam, who had only caught a glimpse of Hermione knew there was something unique about her, and Bobby didn't think it had anything to do with magic. She was determined, tenacious, and so passionate about her purpose and family that it was awesome and frightening. And yet she was only 18 years old. 

Bobby puzzled over his niece as he made a sandwich and was just starting to eat when his front door opened. He heard Hermione knock gently as she announced her presence. 

"In here, kid," he called out. 

She smiled at him as she walked into the kitchen and immediately advised, "I have everything we need. Portkey to Brisbane. Several maps. Enough Australian currency to last us a week - again, don't argue - it's the least I can do."

Bobby closed his mouth and took a bite of the sandwich even though he did indeed want to keep arguing. Last night they'd squabbled for at least a half hour over who would pay for food and lodging, with Hermione stubbornly resistant to Bobby covering any of the costs. She said something about her grandma leaving her a trust, as well as some war reparations coming her way. He didn't fully understand that part, but it went against Bobby's nature to have someone else pay for him. He still planned to secretly throw some money into that mystery bag of hers, if only to appease his conscience. 

Hermione bent and retrieved said bag and set it next to Bobby's duffel on the kitchen table. She then looked over, scrutinizing him, "You don't actually eat at your kitchen table, do you?"

He finished chewing as he leaned against the counter, then motioned to the room in general, "I'm in the kitchen. What's the problem?"

The corner of Hermione's mouth lifted and she looked like she was trying not to roll her eyes at him. "I'm just surprised you have a table here at all. Why not a bookshelf, or maybe a desk?" she queried.

Hmm… a desk ain't a bad idea either.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

~~HG~~

Hermione stared curiously at the pendulum Bobby had set on his desk in the front room. They had decided to try the tracking spell starting with a map of the Australian continent. With luck they would be pointed towards Brisbane and could move forward from there. Bobby was burning sage in the room and held a book open, reviewing the spell. Hermione had heard of muggles dabbling in witchcraft, but she had always assumed it to be more like herbal medicinal practices. The idea that muggles could contact demons or create hexes strong enough to kill was something she still found perplexing; just another reason why purebloods were so wrong about muggles.

Hermione was caught off guard when Bobby started incanting in Latin and she quickly focused her thoughts on her parents and her desire to find them. She held her breath waiting for the pendulum to swing, but it remained still. Bobby started the incantation again and Hermione’s eyes darted between him and the pendulum, her teeth chewing nervously on her bottom lip. Still no movement. She opened her mouth to speak but Bobby held up a hand to cut her off.

“Wait, kid. It’s possible we need to use their given names,” Bobby explained, “Or it’s possible they’re not in Australia anymore.”

Hermione thought this unlikely, mainly because the compulsion to move to Australia already existed within her parents. She watched Bobby this time, instead of the pendulum, as he burned more sage, and started to incant. Hermione wondered at his ability to speak Latin fluently and made a mental note to ask him about his language skills. 

Hermione caught movement from the corner of her eye as the pendulum twitched and she snapped her head to the map. Instead of focusing on one area, the pendulum was only going in circles. Was that a normal reaction? She looked to Bobby and could see his confusion. She sighed. The hope that had bubbled in her chest snapped back like a rubber band. 

Bobby raised his eyes from the map and swinging pendulum to meet Hermione’s gaze. She expected him to be upset, but the angle of his jaw and brow indicated determination. He walked into the kitchen, pulled up the bottom of the silverware drawer and came back with more sage and what appeared to be lavender. He grabbed his two photos of her parents from his desk drawer and set them in the book before starting to incant again. Hermione appreciated the fact that he wasn’t going to give up easily and briefly decided that Bobby would have made a better Hufflepuff than a Gryffindor on work ethic alone. The pendulum continued it’s slow circles but they appeared to grow smaller and focus on the Eastern coast of Australia. 

Hermione picked up a pen from the desk and traced the ellipse on the map. Unfortunately, the area was still so wide it covered both Brisbane and Sydney. She considered taking the portkey and trying again with more detailed maps once they arrived in Brisbane. But what if the tracking spell never narrowed it down? Of course, if her parents were actually in Sydney they’d probably have to take a train or plane and then start the process all over again. She looked up at Bobby who had sat down opposite her at the desk. He appeared as lost in thought as she was.

Just as she began to speak he cut her off, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything more specific, kid. I know we were hoping for better” He pulled at the brim of his hat and looked down at the desk. 

She stared at the top of his hat while he sulked in his chair. She was disappointed, of course, but seeing Bobby - gruff, paranoid Uncle Bobby - looking so dejected made her believe again that she had made the right choice in making him part of her memory charm. Under that rough exterior, he truly cared about her family. 

Her mind continued to churn with a list of mediocre options for moving forward. She sighed and drilled her fingers against the desktop, “Do we have any other methods to exhaust while we’re still in America?”

She was thinking out loud, but Bobby looked up and answered her all the same, “We could go see Pam.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, concern over getting other people - other muggles - involved in this. Bobby held out his hands in appeasement as he continued, “I’m sure you’d like it to remain a family matter, but Pam found you even behind magical… wards.” His last word came out as a question, trying to remember the terms she had used. “You were even in England at the time.”

Hermione wondered how much of her story she’d have to divulge if they asked a stranger to help. What sort of plausible story could they concoct? For a brief moment, she realized how far she’d come from being a third year in divination, with an inherent distrust of anything that couldn’t be logically explained. Now she openly believed there were muggle psychics. 

Finally Hermione released the barrage of questions rolling through her head, “How much could we tell her? I can’t tell a muggle who isn’t related to me about magic; technically I wasn’t even supposed to tell you. Does she live nearby? Could she come here? What would it require from us? How could...”

Bobby’s eyes widened with each of her questions before he leaned forward and put a hand on hers across the desk. “Cool your engines, kid. I talked to her this morning and she knows I’m looking for people in Australia, but that’s all she knows. She could possibly do it with a photograph of your mama and daddy, but if we’re both there, I bet she’ll have some ideas on how to get a better read.” He released her and leaned back into his chair, “But she prefers not to travel. Something about it messing with the ether or some such.”

Hermione instantly thought of Professor Trelawney who refused to leave her tower to protect her “Inner Eye” and cringed a bit. Seers, prophecies, and psychics left a bad taste in her mouth, but based on Bobby’s stories of his search for her in April, she already knew this Pam was much more legitimate. She took a deep breath and searched Bobby’s eyes, “You’re sure we can trust her?”

Bobby nodded. 

Hermione returned the nod. “Let’s do it, then.”

They decided they’d get some sleep and leave before dawn the next day. Bobby went off to call Pam and Hermione used her mirror to contact Harry, who she knew would want an update as she hadn’t had time to see him during her fast trip back home. 

Hermione slept fitfully, her regular nightmares waking her several times. The only way she hadn’t woken Bobby with her screams was by casting a silencing charm on the bedroom each night. They left at 4AM and it was still dark. Bobby’s truck seemed obnoxiously loud in the pre-dawn hours. Hermione was lost in nostalgic thoughts of the few car trips she’d been on with her parents while Bobby remained silent and watchful behind the wheel. She asked him more about his hunts and about the Winchesters. She knew Bobby had other friends, but he never spoke of them. She wasn’t sure if that was due to his privacy or their anonymity. 

As they neared closer to their destination, Hermione’s curiosity grew. “How did you meet Pam?”

“Rufus - the guy who introduced me to hunting in the ‘70s - he introduced us ‘bout seven years ago. Apparently she helped him out of a jam. She’s helped me out a handful of times since then.” Bobby peered at her from the corner of his eye, “She asked to meet you, ya know?”

Hermione was startled, “Why me? She communicates with spirits and she wants to meet me?”

Bobby slowed the truck and pulled up outside of a plain gray house with flowers on the small porch. He shrugged at her while turning off the engine, “She’s curious. She called you my lady friend.”

Hermione blushed, mortified by what she thought that entailed, and the pink in her cheeks had not dissipated by the time they rang the doorbell. A young woman likely in her late 20s instantly opened the door, and grabbed Bobby in a bear hug. This alone was enough to render Hermione speechless but when she looked into the woman’s face she oddly thought of Sirius - thick dark hair, similar aristocratic cheek bones, and a mischievous grin. 

Hermione continued to stare wide-eyed at the woman who stepped forward, stuck out her hand, looked Hermione up and down with a cocky smirk and stated, “Hermione Granger. Brightest witch of her age. I’m Pamela Barnes and I’m so happy to meet you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirteenth chapter on October 13th? Yes, please.

**CHAPTER 13**

~~BS~~

Bobby watched as Hermione faltered on the threshold. She extended her hand to Pam’s, but the greeting seemed to have struck her mute. Finally, after what seemed to Bobby as entirely too long a period of handshaking, Hermione’s eyes flashed as she deadpanned, “It appears my fame precedes me.”

Pam burst out laughing and pulled Hermione through the doorway behind her, Bobby following behind. As they sat themselves around Pam’s table, Bobby observed the two women size each other up. Hermione seemed to have gotten over her initial shock and had a calculating look in her eye while Pam was eyeing Hermione like a cat eyes a mouse. Hermione did not seem to notice or care, for which Bobby was grateful.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but the question was nothing Bobby expected, “So which Black are you related to?”

Pam’s smile actually became more predatory, “Lucretia. Turns out her and old Ignatius had a squib daughter - my mother - who they sent away to America.”

Hermione nodded but the calculating look remained and Bobby felt increasingly unsettled. He was confused again, and God damn it, he hated being confused. His mental list of “things to ask Hermione later” was getting longer by the second and they’d only been here three minutes. 

Bobby huffed, “Now that it appears you know each other,” he gestured to both of the women, suspicion clear in his tone, “We need to find these people.” He took out the most recent picture of the Grangers from 1997 from his wallet and handed it to Pam. 

She stared at the photo and then at Hermione, understanding evident in her eyes. Then she looked at Bobby and studied his features, eyes flicking between him, Hermione, and the photograph. Finally the corner of her mouth cocked and she said, “Bobby Singer, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Bobby simply pursed his lips and shrugged. He could see a small grin on Hermione’s face from the corner of his eye. 

Pam continued, “Names?”

Hermione’s grin instantly fell as she told Pam that either Richard & Jean or Wendell & Monica could apply. Pam obviously had questions she was having trouble holding back, but Bobby held up his hand, “Remember what I told you on the phone, Pam?” he paused for her to nod, “Unless we volunteer the information, assume we cannot tell you for your own safety.”

Bobby saw Hermione peer at Pam apologetically and Bobby thought it likely that Hermione hated not being able to provide knowledge when it was in her power to do so. 

Pam gazed thoughtfully at the photograph, and then up at each of them in turn. “I need blood.” she stated succinctly. “A drop here,” she motioned to the corners of the photograph, “from each of you.”

She provided pins and they each pricked a finger, dropping blood on the two top corners of the photograph. Bobby’s thoughts strayed to the last time he was here in April, the phrase “filthy mudblood” striking through his mind like lightning. He hadn’t needed a drop of blood then. Of course, he hadn’t made it clear that he was related to Hermione either. He wondered if it was because the names for Hermione’s parents were ambiguous. He glanced at her but her expression was closed. They then all placed hands together, palms up, while Pam closed her eyes. Everything went still.

“Shearwater Restaurant. Promenade.” Pam began to speak in a monotone voice, and Bobby’s pulse spiked as he thought about Pam’s screams in April. “English Breakfast tea. Too hot,” She winced at these words. Then Pam recited, “‘Wendell, you know I really like it here in Coffs Harbour, but don’t you feel like something’s missing?’”

Bobby felt Hermione’s hand jerk from his own and he glanced over to see her pulling her beaded bag into her lap and ripping the map of Australia out of the opening. She stabbed her finger at Coffs Harbour, a smaller city Bobby guessed to be about a five hour drive from Brisbane. She pulled out another map that Bobby hadn’t seen yet that was specific to the region of New South Wales, along with a pen and… was that parchment? Papyrus? Who used paper like that? He glanced at Pam who had a small smile steadily growing larger on her face, and then back to Hermione who seemed to be jotting down coordinates. 

Hermione looked up into Bobby’s eyes, excitement laced with trepidation, “Are you ready to go?”

Bobby was once again caught off guard by Hermione. “Uh… shouldn’t we at least leave Pam in peace before we-”

“Yes, of course, so sorry,” Hermione cut him off. She glanced to Pam as she stood from the table, “Thank you for all your help. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again sometime.”

“Oh, I definitely hope so.” Pam actually winked at Hermione. 

Bobby sighed, stood up and edged around the table to Pam, “Leave the kid alone, would ya?” he said into her ear as he hugged her goodbye.

Pam pouted. They were just about out the door, when she said, “You can leave the truck here.”

Bobby opened his mouth to suggest he’d do no such thing, when Pam closed the door in his face. He turned and saw Hermione on the front steps with a rusty measuring cup held in a cloth in her hand. 

“We need to leave now so we can try to catch them at the restaurant,” explained Hermione. 

Bobby stared at his truck, and then back at Hermione. He coughed to clear his throat. “Look, kid. I’ve got a lot of stuff in that truck that I…” He drifted off as Hermione held up her finger, marched to the truck and grabbed his duffel bag. 

She looked at him briefly and then back at the bag, pulling out her wand. Bobby strained to hear her quiet voice as she said, “Technically I shouldn’t, but given the circumstances.” He wondered if she was talking to herself. She said several different spells, directing her wand at his bag, but it looked no different to Bobby when she handed him the duffel. Hermione bit the corner of her lower lip and stated, “Undetectable extension charm and a featherlight charm. Whatever’s in this truck, you can now take with you in that bag. I suppose you could even fit the whole truck in the bag, but it seems unnecessary. I’d try to shrink it, but with all the different components of an engine, I wouldn’t feel comfortable without studying a manual first.” 

Bobby was reminded that Hermione rambled when she was nervous. He took the bag and unzipped it before going around to the driver’s side door and putting in a wallet of IDs, two pistols, a bag of salt, a jar of holy water, and several types of ammunition. The bag never expanded and never got heavier. Hell, he could get used to this. He thought about taking the gas can, but without knowing exactly how a portkey or the magic on his bag really worked, he didn’t want to risk something exploding. 

He walked back around the truck to Hermione who explained how to use the portkey and that she’d already set it to the coordinates for the center of Coffs Harbour. She spoke the word “Portus” as Bobby touched a finger to the cup and Bobby felt an odd sensation in his stomach before being thrown into a whirlwind of light and sound. His lungs felt like they were stuck in his throat and after it had gone on so long he was sure he was dying, he fell to his knees in what appeared to be a public park before puking in the closest bush. 

He glared at Hermione who looked a bit green, but was standing against a tree, a pitying grimace on her face. 

After a dizzying breath, he shouted, “There’s no way in hell you’re ever - and I mean EVER - gettin’ me to do that again.”


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

~~HG~~

Panic. 

That was definitely the feeling inside every fiber of Hermione’s being as she stared up at the sign for the Shearwater Restaurant. For Merlin’s sake, she had ridden a dragon less than two months ago, approaching two muggles should not make her panic. But her pulse raced and her breath came in sharp pants all the same. Of course that could be because she had basically ran here from the town center, after asking a bicyclist about the Shearwater Restaurant. When she envisioned returning her parents’ memories, she never thought about doing so in a public setting. 

Bobby caught up to her as she stood on the sidewalk, clutching a stitch in his side. “Tryin’ to ditch me?” he wheezed.

Hermione shook her head slowly but her eyes never left the door of the restaurant. 

“Good,” Bobby huffed, “Because once my lungs return to their right place, I’m gonna give you a piece of my mind.” Hermione could recognize that he was more exasperated than angry. She quickly looked to him and saw him hunch over to place his hands on his knees. 

Her eyes flicked back to the door of the restaurant where an elderly couple was walking out. Pam had given them the location approximately 15 minutes ago. Her parents were likely still inside. She took a hesitant step forward before but felt Bobby’s hand rest on her shoulder.

“Hold it. What’s our plan?”

She turned her head to look at him, eyes wide. Plan? Plan. Yes, a plan is definitely needed. Harry’s words filtered through her mind- _ We plan. We get there. All hell breaks loose. _Hermione shook the thought away. Bobby looked at her face before kneeling to open his duffel and pulling out a stack of badges related to government or law enforcement. He grabbed an FBI badge and held it up to her. “Can you change this to show Australian Federal Police?” Hermione could only blink rapidly as her brain refused to understand. He lowered his voice, “Ya know, with your-” he motioned to the wand hidden up Hermione’s sleeve.

“I don’t know what Australian Federal Police insignia looks like,” she said apologetically. Why was this even important? Her parents were there. Three hundred feet away. 

“And I’m bettin' neither do your folks.” Bobby’s tone was calm and slow, as if explaining simple math to a child. “We just need an excuse to talk to them.”

Her eyes streaked to the door again as a woman with two children exited the restaurant. She took a deep breath in through her nose, turned away from the sidewalk and charmed the badge. She then duplicated one for herself. 

She turned back to Bobby and realized he was staring at the two badges, eyebrows lost under his hat. She cocked her eyebrow at him just as the door to the restaurant opened again and out walked Mum and Dad - no, Monica and Wendell Wilkins. Hermione’s feet started to move of their own accord like a moth to a flame. There was no time to plan what they would say, or worry that neither of them were dressed like police officers. No time to lecture Bobby about the illegalities of forging police badges. That was her Mum. Her Dad. She wouldn’t, couldn’t lose sight of them. Not ever again.

Instead of walking to an automobile, the couple turned up the street towards some nearby residences. Hermione continued to follow, with Bobby close behind her. She couldn't make out their conversation, so she focused elsewhere. They looked the same as last year but a bit more tan. Her Mum still wore her curls the same way, with the same greys that she refused to dye. Her Dad still had the same glasses. The familiarity of them caused her heart to ache. 

Wendell and Monica began to slow as they approached the stairs to a white home with blue curtains. Hermione's voice seemed to have disappeared entirely. She was grateful when Bobby stepped past her, badge in hand, and cleared his throat, "Excuse me. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins?"

Her parents turned and gave Bobby a mildly curious look before glancing at Hermione. She tried to school her features into something serious, instead of the combination of shock and hope that was entirely too evident. A small part of her thought they might recognize her, or at least experience deja vu, but if either of them did, it didn't show in their expressions. 

Wendell spoke, "Yes? And you are?"

"Detective Singer, sir. This is Detective Granger," he motioned towards Hermione, "We're with the AFP and we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Hermione had to hand it to Bobby - his tone left no opening for argument. But it was her mu- Monica- that looked at Hermione and hesitated. "You're detectives? What is this about?"

"We... we," Hermione stuttered and still couldn't finish her sentence. She looked desperately to Bobby. 

"We'll explain when we get inside, ma'am. It actually has to do with your move here from the UK," he smoothly inserted. 

Her Da-Wendell- looked curiously at Bobby, "American? Working for the AFP? Seems unusual."

Hermione wanted to curse their common sense. She finally choked out, "It's just a few questions. Perhaps we could have some tea?"

Wendell's eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze on Hermione, "And English?" He turned to take both of them in and she was sure he was looking at their clothing, deciding that there was no way they were legitimate. "Odd," here said, punctuating the word. 

Luckily, Monica seemed to pity Hermione’s blundering; maybe she thought Hermione was new to the job. She started up the stairs, "Yes, come in. I'll put the kettle on."

Hermione was certain her pulse was pounding to the point that everyone else would notice. Wendell motioned for her to go behind Jean, and she methodically tried to school her breathing as she put one foot in front of the other up the wooden stairs. She and Bobby hadn’t talked about how quickly they would try to reverse the spell. Should they wait for the tea to be brewed? Should they just shout out the trigger phrases immediately when they were inside the foyer? She was still running through scenarios as Wendell and Bobby entered behind her and the front door was shut. Wendell motioned to a small sitting room with a window to the street. They sat in two blue armchairs placed side by side as Wendell went back into the kitchen where Monica was getting out teacups. Hermione realized the furniture was situated exactly the same as in their old front room in Hampstead. 

Bobby caught her eye and held his hands up in front of him, his eyes silently asking, “What now?”

She cast a quick _ Muffliato _ and Bobby looked around curiously to see what spell she had done. “Just a spell so they can’t hear us,” she explained quickly, “Once they come back in the room, we’ll just go for it.” She sounded more confident than she felt. Bobby nodded and gave her an encouraging grin. 

Hermione cancelled the spell and sat chewing her bottom lip until both Wendell and Monica reappeared. Monica sat the tea tray on the coffee table as Wendell sat on the sofa, closest to Bobby. As Monica stood up to shift around and start pouring the tea, Hermione all but shouted at her, “Mum, there’s a professor here who says I’m a witch and that I’ve been accepted to a special school.” She could hear Bobby speaking to Wendell at the same time.

Monica - Jean, instantly froze, her eyes going blank, her right arm outstretched towards the teapot. Hermione subconsciously crossed and uncrossed each of her fingers. She specifically had picked that sentence, as it had been one that had changed their world so completely. She could still remember that fateful day when Professor McGonagall had come with her Hogwarts letter and met Hermione on the front porch while she read The Little Prince for the 20th time. She cherished the story even more now, for its part in the day that altered her entire existence. 

When Hermione glanced at Wendell - Richard, his eyes were also unfocused. Bobby’s eyes were narrowed at Richard but his hands were clasped, knuckles white. Hermione realized he was likely also nervous, this being the first time he would be meeting his brother in person. Hermione’s heart went out to him and she put her hand on top of his; he clutched it like a lifeline but didn’t divert his gaze from her dad. 

It seemed a lifetime passed in the span of what was really two minutes. Hermione realized that’s actually exactly what it was - her parents were remembering their lifetime with her. She grew concerned though as their faces didn’t change expression. If they were reliving memories with their daughter, shouldn’t they be showing _ some _ emotion? For a split second, she almost moved to check her books again before remembering she’d read them all at least five times and just needed to be patient. 

Bobby’s eyes were now flickering between Richard, Jean, and Hermione. Hermione poured tea for four, primarily for the need to be doing something. She could tell Bobby was eyeing her behavior and she just shrugged, “All we can do is wait.”

“At least Richard was sitting down. How long will this go on? Your mama’s going to get uncomfortable.” Bobby asked as he eyed her Mum’s awkward stance.

Hermione eyed each of her parents critically, “Don’t know. The retrieval process is diff-” 

Bobby interrupted, “Different for each person. Yeah, kid, I remember.” 

Another minute went by in total silence. Neither of Hermione’s parents moved except for the rise and fall of their chests. Bobby stood and walked over to the doorway into the kitchen. He peered around the corner before stating he was going to look around. Hermione would have wondered at his nonchalance if she hadn’t spent the last two days with him, observing how Bobby always had to be doing something, especially when his nerves were on edge. 

Hermione could hear Bobby wandering further into the home and just as he seemed to open the back door, her Dad stirred. She watched his eyes grow wider and wider before they wheeled around frantically through the room, coming to rest on her. They stared at one another, eyes locked. Hermione could feel the tears coming, but she couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from him. Nothing in his eyes indicated his feelings towards her and she felt more frantic by the second. What did he think? Was he ashamed of her? Happy she was here? Why wasn’t he saying anything? Finally Dad looked away and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or terrified. His gaze landed on Mum. 

“Hermione, what have you done to your mother?” he asked in a bewildered tone.

Bobby must have heard the question from the back of the house, as Hermione recognized his footsteps racing back into the sitting room. Richard heard them as well and he stood to face the intruder. Bobby appeared in the doorway just as her Dad took up a defensive position in front of her Mum. 

Richard’s jaw dropped, “B-B- Bobby? Bobby Singer?”

Bobby took one step into the room and crossed his arms, “Sure as Hell ain’t the tooth fairy.”


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

~~BS~~

Bobby watched as total confusion and wonder chased their way around his brother’s face.  _ His Brother. _ Holy shit. Up until he had received those bewildering letters from Hermione in 1997, he had never really pictured meeting Richard. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to, as much as he just didn’t see how on Earth it would ever happen. They’d never even spoken by phone and yet here he was, standing in the same room, in Australia of all places. 

Bobby slowly walked further into the room and sat in the chair next to Hermione. Richard continued to stare at him and then suddenly seemed to remember Jean was standing as if frozen directly behind him. Richard seemed wary of turning his back on Bobby and Hermione and Bobby wasn’t sure if he thought they were a threat, or would disappear when he wasn’t watching. 

Richard put his hand to Jean’s wrist and Bobby realized he was checking for a pulse. He clasped his hand into Jean’s and turned to awkwardly face Hermione. “What’s wrong with your Mum?”

“She’ll recover in… well, hopefully anytime now,” Hermione whispered. “The spell is still being reversed inside her mind.” 

“You did this to us?” Richard asked, his eyes narrowing. Bobby winced on Hermione’s behalf for the hard edge in his tone. Hermione only nodded, her eyes staring at her shoes.

Richard turned again and began to speak softly to Jean, asking if she could hear him. Bobby nudged Hermione’s knee with his own and she shook her head, eyes never leaving their mark on the floor. He nudged her harder when he caught a tremor in Jean’s arm. 

Jean inhaled loudly, as if finally coming up for air. Bobby watched her stare into Richard’s face, as if reassuring herself that some things hadn’t changed. The gaze was almost too intimate and Bobby found himself studying the tea set for fear of intruding. 

After several seconds, Jean cleared her throat, “We were watching the news at home… in England.” Bobby looked up to see her eyeing the sitting room as if to confirm they were no longer in Hampstead. Again Hermione nodded without looking at her parents. Jean paused, her gaze narrowing in on Hermione, before continuing, “You made us move away. From you. From our friends. You knew we wouldn’t leave you, so you forced us.” The fiery look in Jean’s eye was something familiar to Bobby; he had already seen it a handful of times in Hermione. 

Hermione nodded again, tears running down her cheeks. Bobby wondered at her parents’ ability to render her speechless. Although he knew it wasn’t Richard and Jean - it was her guilt, eating her from the inside.

Jean looked at Bobby then for the first time, her gaze softening, voice almost a whisper, “Bobby. Have you been looking after our girl all this time?” 

Bobby felt an odd combination of grief, shame, and horror at her words. From the stories Hermione had told him, she certainly needed looking after - probably had since the age of 11. But Bobby also heard the hope in her statement; her hope that Bobby had been there for Hermione when she hadn’t let her own parents do so. Unfortunately Bobby had no easy answer and he shook his head, “Uhh… no, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Jean’s lip twitched at the corner though her eyes were confused, “Please, Bobby - you can call me Jean.”

Bobby nodded and sneaked a peek at Hermione, who was furiously wiping tears from her face. He decided to give the kid a break, “Look, Jean, Richard, why don’t you guys have a seat. It’s a long story that Hermione wants to tell you. So let’s, uh… let’s have some tea.” He leaned towards the tea set, realizing he had no idea how to serve tea to English people. He grabbed a cup and sat back, thinking there probably were no etiquette rules for this situation anyway - when a host invites you for tea under the guise of everyone having different identities prior to the tea actually being served. 

Several seconds passed with no movement from any of the Grangers. Then Hermione leaned forward and made up the cups for both her parents and then herself. She sat back further into her chair, cup in hand, and eyed both her parents as they sat stiffly on the couch. 

Another moment of silence passed before Bobby heard Hermione inhale deeply, “Mum, Dad, you remember why we were going to move away from England, right? The Death Eaters? Voldemort?” Both Jean and Richard nodded slowly. Hermione continued in a soft tone, “Things were very dangerous. For me, but particularly for you. I wanted you safe. I wanted to protect you so,  _ so,  _ badly, but I… I had a, well I had a job to do with Harry that would end the war. I couldn’t go with you.” Her tone grew fiercer, “And we did end the war. Voldemort is dead. His followers are dead or being imprisoned. They can’t hurt you. They can’t hurt us.” Bobby knew she was reaching for her left forearm again without needing to look at her.

Richard and Jean stared at Hermione. He personally didn’t think they looked angry - just deeply confused. Bobby wondered what it was like for your own mind to try and reconcile two different sets of memories. He imagined it was a bit like when you wake up after dreaming and you’re not sure which version of reality you’re living. 

“What,” Jean hesitated, fingertips turning white with the grip on her teacup, “What did you do to us?”

Hermione set her tea on the table and stretched her hand out seemingly to hold Jean’s hand, but pulled back at the last second. “I’m so sorry, Mum, Dad… but I… I altered your memories. You wouldn’t leave England without me, so I removed myself, removed every trace of me from your minds,” she explained. The look on her face was so painfully raw; on any other person, Bobby would think it likely they would never recover. “No one could know your relation to me and no one could find you. You would have been tortured, killed slowly for sport, and I wouldn’t… I couldn’t.” Hermione’s voice petered out and she grabbed the tea and took a large sip. Bobby wondered if, like him, she also wished it was whiskey instead. “I changed your names and created the compulsion to move to Australia sooner rather than later,” she finished with a sigh.

Richard gave Bobby a sharp look at the mention of moving to Australia, then his eyes flashed and became wider, “And Bobby knows all of this? He knows about… you?”

Bobby set his tea on the table and rubbed both hands on his jeans. “She gave me the crash course about 3 days ago. Some secrets are so big, they have to be told in person.” Bobby noticed Jean had a commiserating look. “Besides - I’m good with weird.”

“A salvage yard owner who’s never left South Dakota is good with weird?” Richard asked skeptically. Hmm… apparently Wendell wasn’t the only suspicious one. Good for him.

“I’m, uh… I don’t  _ just _ own a salvage yard,” Bobby glanced to Hermione who was looking at him with a similar calculating expression to his own. Richard and Jean were both now staring at him with laser focus. He imagined that like him, they also didn’t like being confused. But how much should he tell them now? Was this like ripping off a bandaid? Just flush out all the family secrets in one go? Not for the last time, Bobby wished he had whiskey. 

Hermione set his internal debate on hold by pulling the focus back to her, “Uncle Bobby was necessary in reversing the spell I did on your memories. We corresponded a bit during the war, and I knew I could trust him with the secrets of the wizarding world. He didn’t have to come here with me, but he offered to help me. To help us.” Richard and Jean looked back and forth between Hermione and Bobby. Their expressions alternating between worry, anxiety, and disbelief. Hermione spoke again in a quiet voice, “I know you wouldn’t have chosen this for yourself and I’m truly sorry. I almost left you alone here in Australia, thinking you’d be better off without a daughter like me,” Hermione stared at her hands and didn’t notice her parents flinch at her words, “But Bobby convinced me that you needed the choice. You need to decide how you want to proceed. If you cannot forgive me, I would understand.” Hermione concluded by furiously scrubbing tears from her cheeks.

The house was silent. Not even a car drove by on the street. Richard and Jean seemed lost in their own thoughts. The seconds ticked on and still no one spoke. Bobby realized he had been holding his breath when Hermione exhaled sharply.

“I guess we’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Hermione stood up and gestured for Bobby to do the same, “I think I saw a coffee shop down the road. We’ll go there so you two can-”

“Just a minute, young lady,” Jean interrupted, “You think I’m letting you out of my sight after this?”

Hermione turned back to her mother but looked at the floor and shrugged. Bobby thought he’d never seen her look more like a sullen teenager, but when he looked closer, he saw the spark of hope in her eyes. 

Richard stood, “There’s a guest bedroom upstairs. I’m afraid we only have one.” 

Bobby glanced at Hermione who looked dead on her feet and remembered how little she slept. “You take the bed, kid. Go lie down and we’ll all be down here when you wake up.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at him, but she only nodded. She allowed Jean to lead her from the room. 

Richard picked up the tea set, “I’m sure you’re tired too, Bobby. I imagine the time difference isn’t helpful either. You can have a lie down on the couch if you’d like.”

“No,” Bobby gruffed, “Thank you,” he tacked on as an afterthought. “I’d actually like to…” He stopped talking as Jean walked back in with a stack of newspaper articles. Bobby looked closer and realized some of the pictures were moving. 

“Hermione gave me these,” Jean explained. “Apparently they’re from the time we were… they’re from the last year.” She looked at Richard and half-shrugged before setting the articles on the coffee table. 

Bobby regarded the articles closely, then looked up at Richard and Jean who seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes. “I’d like to look at those as well,” he told them. “Do you have any coffee? And any alcohol?”


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

~~HG~~

Hermione hadn’t felt this tired since being on the Horcrux hunt. The explanation to her parents took all of her energy and now that they knew the truth, she had no more fight. She was resilient, but could admit to herself that she had been mostly running on nerves and fear ever since getting that first portkey to America before meeting Uncle Bobby. She laid on the guest bed in her parent’s home in Australia and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Hermione drifted to sleep with the knowledge that at the very least, her parents knew the truth and she had been able to reverse the spell. 

When she awoke, the house was quiet. She didn’t think it had been long, as the shadows in the room were only slightly changed. Was Bobby asleep downstairs? Did everyone go out? She silently moved downstairs and heard the sound of newspapers rustling.

She was about to head into the front room again when she heard her mum speak, “Bobby - Did she… did she talk to you about all of this?”

More paper rustling. “A bit,” came Bobby’s low voice, “She only explained about half of what’s in these articles.”

“Muggleborn Registration Committee? Undesirable Number 1 and 2? This is outrageous!” her Dad almost shouted into the room. “Haven’t these people heard of the Nazis? Hermione always talked about some traditional wizards still living in the Dark Ages, but I had no idea.”

Hermione started to edge around the corner and into the room. She could see Bobby in the chair he had previously occupied, her parents still on the sofa with their backs to her. Someone had made coffee and there appeared to be a bottle of rum sitting on the coffee table. 

Before Hermione could announce her presence, her Mum asked quietly, “But Bobby… do you really think it was this bad?”

Bobby stared at her Mum, then poured some rum into his coffee cup and took a sip. “Honestly, Jean,” he started before looking right into Hermione’s eyes, “I think it was worse.”

Hermione cleared her throat, “You may remember  _ The Daily Prophet,  _ Mum and Dad. The reporting has never been the hard-hitting journalism you might hope for. Most of these articles prior to May 2, 1998 were heavily influenced by the Ministry, which was only a puppet for Voldemort.” As she spoke, she moved further into the room and sat in the chair next to Bobby, tucking her legs underneath her. “They labeled Harry and I as terrorists and put a price on our heads. Ron’s family had managed a legitimate excuse for him that worked up until Easter, but after that his whole family had to go into hiding.”

“Ron’s whole family went into hiding with him?” her dad asked, the underlying accusation clear.

Hermione shook her head, “No. His family knew he would be going with Harry and me, so they took steps to make it look like he was home with a severe illness. It wasn’t until we were caught by snatchers during the Easter holiday that Death Eaters learned the truth, and after that, Ron still stayed with us, but the rest of his family couldn’t go home.” 

“Snatchers?” her mum tried to clarify. Mum thumbed through the stack of articles, pulling out the ones talking about the reward money for finding muggleborns and undesirables. She looked at Hermione, “But there’s nothing here indicating you were caught? Surely they’d want to publicize that they caught the main enemies of the state?”

Hermione sighed and stared at her hands, “We were caught by snatchers and taken to Death Eaters, but we were able to escape after I… well, we escaped with help,” she sneaked a peek at Bobby who was staring at her forearm. “A house elf rescued us and several other prisoners but he… he died in the process.”

She winced as her words led to three different questions all voiced at the same time:

“You used one of those poor slave creatures to help you and he died?” from her mum; “Wait… what’s a house elf?” from Bobby; and “You escaped after what? What happened?” from her dad.

Hermione stared at her dad, but answered her mum’s and Bobby’s question first, “Dobby. The elf’s name was Dobby and he was a free elf, Mum.” She swiveled her gaze to Bobby, “In the wizarding world, there are creatures known as House Elves that are linked to a house or family line and basically act as servants. From an outside perspective, it appears as indentured servitude, but I’ve learned that it’s more complicated than that from a magical perspective.” She turned to her Mum again, “Dobby came to help Harry, Mum. You may remember, Harry freed Dobby from the Malfoys at the end of my second year. We would never have asked him to go back into that home.” At these words, Hermione felt tears form and she tried her best to blink them away. She idly wondered if there would ever be a time where she could go a full 24 hours without crying. She stared back at her hands but continued in a small voice, “Harry was locked in the basement and asked for help. Dobby was the only one who came, the only one who could help. He saved my- our lives.”

Silence fell and Hermione thought Bobby must be a bad influence as the only thing she could think was how badly she wanted a drink of alcohol to get through what she knew was coming next. It was Bobby who spoke into the tension, “You should tell them, kid. Your daddy asked, and he deserves to know the truth, just as you deserve to tell it.”

She peered up at him and then over to her parents. They were sitting with their hands clasped together, anxiety evident on their faces. Hermione inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled out, “I was tortured.” She saw their eyes widen, her mum looking her over for signs of injury. “It was months ago, Mum. We escaped after I was tortured for information, Dad. I was cursed. They used the cruciatus. And…” she cut off her stilted words, realizing she didn’t know how to continue. Her mum had tears flowing down her cheeks. Her Dad’s face was turning red as he tried to hold back a tirade of emotion that she wasn’t sure was grief or anger. 

Bobby once again came to her rescue. He poured more rum into a coffee cup that he nestled into her clasped hands. He nodded when Hermione caught his eye and she felt the support and acceptance in his simple gesture. She downed the rum and coughed, then set the mug on the table while she pulled her left sleeve up and spoke, “And they carved this into my arm. To remind me of my place.”

She didn’t look at her arm, but she could see her parents’ expressions the instant they saw it and realized what it meant. Mudblood. Their “dirty” blood ran through her veins. She expected outrage or horror, expected to feel their pity. Instead, what Hermione felt was her mum’s hand, pulling her around the coffee table before being sat between both her parents and wrapped in a tight hug. Her mum was sobbing. Even her dad was crying. She hadn’t seen him cry since Gran passed back in 1991.

They continued to sit on the couch, locked in the embrace for a small eternity. Hermione let the parental affection wash over her, and allowed herself to once again be a child, to acknowledge that somehow, some problems were only made better by her parents. She glanced at Bobby who looked surprisingly glassy-eyed himself, and wondered how Bobby survived this long without parents, without kids, without a partner. She reached out of the tangle of limbs and snatched Bobby’s hand in her own. He looked surprised by her gesture, but he patted her hand and then went for more rum. 

After several minutes of crying and quiet reassurances that she was indeed physically fine, her Dad broke away from her to pour some rum into his teacup. “I know you think you had our best intentions at heart when you erased our memories,” he winced after taking a sip, “but I would have rather died, if only to know you were safe. You are intelligent and certainly capable, sweetheart, but there are some things you cannot understand because you are not a parent. For almost 19 years, you have been the center of our world,” he gestured to her Mum and back, “Even without you, without remembering you, it was like we were constantly trying to fill the void of where you’d been. We’ve changed homes three times since moving here. We were starting to talk about opening a small business just to have something to fill our time,” he sighed and took a long look at Hermione before continuing, “Honestly, I’m not sure what’s worse - the worry and fear,” Hermione flinched at this word, “of what you’re capable of, or the grief and pain that we’ve completely failed you as parents. We should always be protecting you, not the other way around.”

Her mum gripped her hand tightly but seemed unable to speak. Her Dad’s words were similar to what he had told her before they left England. And again, Hermione tried to convince him, “That’s what I’m saying Dad, Mum,” she tried to catch their eyes, willing them to focus on her words, “As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t have protected me from this,” she motioned to the newspaper clippings on the table. “As much as I wished you didn’t have to leave, this war would not have been won if you had stayed in England, or if I had left with you. I would never have been able to focus on helping Harry if I was worried about your safety every day, and without my help, the war would still be happening or Voldemort would have won.”

“Is that why they’re going to give you this?” her Mum asked, holding up the most recent  _ Daily Prophet _ article headlined  _ Golden Trio to Receive Order of Merlin _ . 

Hermione blushed but it was more from rage than embarrassment. “Yes,” she said in a small voice, “Though I’d much rather they didn’t.” 

“Why not, kid? According to this, you and your friends basically saved the whole world. Why shouldn’t you be acknowledged for that?” Bobby pushed.

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, pictures of Fred, Remus, Tonks, and even Colin Creevey flashing before her eyes. She opened her eyes and reached for her mug. “Why celebrate an achievement when we lost so much to get there? I did not help Harry to get an award from a government that is easily corrupted,” she took a long sip and set the mug back down, “I did not fight in a battle, or run from snatchers, or starve in the wilderness for seven months to get an award.” Hermione looked from Bobby’s eyes, to her Mum and Dad’s. “I did not force my own family to forget me, or suffer through torture to win an award.” 

She could feel her hair starting to crackle at the tips. She knew anger was not the way to overcome guilt and grief, but it was such a simple, easy feeling. Merlin, why could nothing ever just be simple? Her heartbeat sped up as she clenched and unclenched her fists. “Do you know how many funerals I attended in the past two months? Funerals for friends I loved, for persons who fought just as hard as I did. Where is their award?” She reached out towards the Wanted Poster of Harry, and crumpled it into a ball and huffed, “One second we’re public enemies, and the next we’re their ‘Golden’ idols. It’s disgusting!” at this last word she stood and stalked over to the curtains, pulling them back to look out the front window. 

To her surprise, it was Bobby who came and stood next to her as she stared unseeing at the street. “It never does feel right to be thanked for saving people, when there were still so many that couldn’t be saved,” he whispered in a voice so low Hermione could barely hear.

And just like that, Bobby’s easy simplicity cracked through her righteous anger. She hugged him fiercely and felt the tension she caused by catching him off guard. He cautiously hugged her back, as if he wasn’t sure she would let him. Hermione looked over Bobby’s shoulder at her parents and saw their wide-eyed confusion. 

Her Dad cleared his throat, “So Bobby, what do you do besides own a salvage yard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always assumed Hermione, as a Muggleborn and known companion of Harry Potter, was the Ministry's Undesirable #2. But I recently realized that was never explicitly stated in canon. Hopefully you can put up with my slight smudging of "reality."


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

~~BS~~

Bobby had just enough time to marvel at Hermione’s hug before being brought back to reality by Richard’s question. He turned from the window to look at Richard and Jean, and then peered back at Hermione. How much should he tell them? 

She seemed to understand the question in his eyes as she answered, “You might as well tell them all of it, Uncle Bobby.”

He sat back in his chair across from Richard and picked up his mug before finishing the rum. Damn, this stuff was sweet. The Grangers really needed to evaluate their alcohol choices. He poured another two fingers into the mug while Hermione sat back on the couch between her parents. He waved the bottle at them in offering and Hermione nodded her head. 

Richard had started to shake his head, but upon seeing Hermione’s answer, just held out his teacup. 

Jean, polite as ever, simply said, “No, thank you.”

He poured some into Richard’s cup, and into Hermione’s as she switched to tea. He then set the bottle of rum back on the tabletop and eyed his British family members. So proper with their tea and saucers. His lips quirked involuntarily. 

Bobby was wracking his brain for how to begin while staring at the tightly knit family across from him and finally muttered, “Well ain’t this a Hallmark card.”

Hermione grinned, and extended her hand in a sudden flash of playfulness, “Nice to meet you, Uncle Bobby. We’re the Grangers.” 

In a different life, they would have been a normal family with normal lives. Bobby would have come to England, or maybe they would have gone to visit him. They would talk about mundane things like the weather and the difference in diet between England and America. They would have no secrets to keep about who they really were and what they did as a profession. In a different life, this could have been their first meeting.

Instead, Bobby realized that had they all been living “normal” lives, they likely wouldn’t have had anything in common. 

Bobby huffed as he tugged at the brim of his hat. Might as well stop beating ‘round the bush. He dipped the hat brim in a mock greeting to Hermione and flatly replied, “Nice to meet you. I’m Bobby Singer and I’m a hunter.” 

The words left his lips and he shuddered at how much he sounded like he was in an AA meeting. Hermione’s smile was encouraging but the confusion on Jean and Richard’s faces was understandable. 

“I hunt down and protect people from supernatural beings,” he continued, now looking at Richard whose jaw had dropped open. He peeked at Jean and noticed her eyebrows were still quirked in confusion and disbelief, so he sat the mug on the table and explained further, “You obviously know magic exists, but that is not the only preternatural thing in this world. There are many other creatures that affect human life on this planet and none of them are pleasant. Hermione may have told you about werewolves, vampires, and other creatures that she’s dealt with, but they are not unique to the magical world.” He paused here for any questions and to pick up his mug. He noted that Richard’s teacup was empty.

“What... does,” Jean started slowly, as if not sure exactly where her question would end up, “what does hunting actually entail?”

“Basically what it sounds like - hunting down and trapping or killing anything supernatural that causes harm, by any means necessary,” he explained as his eyes glanced over to his duffel that he had dropped in the entryway.

“Have you always,” Richard started, “that is to say, how did you become a hunter? Was our… father a h..hunter as well?” 

Bobby wasn’t sure if Richard choked more on the word father or hunter, but he adamantly shook his head. He didn’t want Richard to think dear old Dad had some sort of hunting bond with him like John did with his boys. No, sir.

Hermione cut in, “No, Dad. Uncle Bobby didn’t get into the business until the late 70s.” 

Bobby shifted in his seat, swirling the alcohol in his mug, half amused by Hermione’s description. 

Jean latched onto her daughter’s words immediately, “You mean it is a business? Do you get paid? Is it like ghost busting, or whatever that American film was? How on Earth did you get started? Did you see something unexplainable?”

Bobby’s lips twitched as Richard set his teacup down and reached across Hermione to latch onto Jean’s hand. Apparently Hermione took after her mother in regards to badgering questions.

“Uh… no, Jean,” he admitted while reaching for the rum to refill his mug and Richard’s teacup, “It’s not a paying profession. Fairly thankless, actually,” he muttered and he could see the Granger’s faces all shift to indignation on his behalf, “but like I told the ki - Hermione here, someone’s got to do it.” 

He hesitated in answering the rest of Jean’s questions. Could he tell them about Karen? Originally he’d only ever talked to Rufus in his grief, and then John in commiseration about his wife. He had not wanted to heave that onto Hermione’s shoulders when she asked him, not wanting her pity. But something about sitting in this house today - his brother’s house, where so many other secrets had been laid bare… 

He coughed to try and clear the lump in his throat, “My… uh, my wife Karen. She, uh, well she,” another pause to take a fortifying sip from the mug. God, why couldn’t this be whiskey? He looked up to see Hermione staring at him with laser focus. He stared directly at her now familiar freckle pattern as he continued, “We had only been married two years. She was possessed. A demon possessed her,” he heard Jean’s gasp and Richard shifting on the sofa, “and I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to help her. I met a Hunter after… after she died and finally learned the truth.”

Hermione stood from the couch and moved back to the seat next to him. She plucked the mug from his grip, which was helpful as it was in danger of spilling due to the tremor in his hand. He had a feeling that if he hadn’t been sitting she might try to hug him again. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad?

He felt her hand grasp his but he looked at Richard and Jean who wore identical expressions of sorrow. “Since then, I’ve seen much worse. But I try to help where I can,” he finished quietly. 

Jean slowly leaned across the table and placed a gentle hand on his knee. 

"I’m so sorry you lost her, Bobby. It seems like a very lonely life," she murmured. 

He expected pity, but her tone conveyed more understanding than sympathy.

Bobby nodded, "Most hunters rely on each other for information. Friends and family are a bit of a luxury. But really, we prefer it that way. Kind of need to fly below the radar," he mumbled while he reached again for his cup. 

Thoughtful silence pervaded the room while he took several long sips of rum. His chest felt odd, somehow lighter and yet fuller at the same time. Hermione squeezed his hand gently before placing her own back in her lap and fidgeting with her cup. 

Bobby was roused from his thoughts by Richard. 

"Right, well," his brother paused to clear his throat, "are there any other secrets we should know?" he inquired bluntly, looking between Bobby and his daughter. 

"Don't think so," Bobby gruffed while he looked to Richard and shrugged. 

"Well, it's not a secret, but I'm going back to Hogwarts in September to finish my last year," Hermione shared hesitantly. "Will you… do you think you'll come back to England?" 

She cast long imploring looks at both her parents and Bobby would have chuckled if she didn't turn the same look on him immediately afterwards. Instead, it turned to more of a cough, which he drowned with more rum. Maybe the sweetness of this alcohol was to blame, but for whatever reason, he seriously weighed the possibility of going to England. 

Jean looked to Richard in one of those moments of unspoken communication before looking back to her daughter. 

"We have some roots here in Australia,” she spoke hesitantly.

“And we want it clear that you’ll never again use magic on us without our consent,” Richard cut in, his eyebrows pulled low over his gaze at Hermione. 

She nodded furiously, her curls bouncing in all directions. “Of course,” she breathed as she looked into her lap.

Jean continued, “But our roots can be pulled up. You're our home, honey. If your life is in Britain and you think it's safe to return, then we will join you," she advised. 

Bobby watched as Hermione’s face broke into a wide smile of undeniable happiness. Then she turned it on him. 

"Will you come?" she pleaded. "It doesn’t have to be for long. But I’m quite certain I have some books and supplies you may find interesting," she hinted. 

He thought of his hunting bag, which was now light as a feather and bottomless and his curiosity grew. 

"Depends," he said, eyes narrowing at the witch. "You gonna torture me with one of those damn projectile portkey things again?"

He didn't think it was possible, but she smiled even wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm marking this story completed for now as it has accomplished what I originally set out to do.
> 
> That being said - I do have a sequel, or a Part II, in the works that would highlight Bobby in England with the Grangers, and Hermione meeting the Boys and going on a hunt (not necessarily in that order).
> 
> However, my focus has been divided between this story, and a HP Time Travel AU where Hermione goes back to 1982 (I know - Time Travel fix-its have all been done - but never in the way I want them to). At this point, I'm not sure which one I'll finish first, and I've learned it's a bit more fair to readers if I've finished (or almost finished) an entire story before I start to post. :) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos, and commented. It still blows my mind that people are interested in reading the strange nonsense that comes out of my head.


End file.
